


Time without Consequences

by KinkyLinny



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Billy Bones needs a little love, Captain Flint / Thomas Hamilton (past), Captain Flint is a Cunning Ginger Bastard, Dark Captain Flint, Dark John Silver, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, James McGraw makes an appearance, Jealous Captain Flint, John Silver is a Little Shit, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Violence, Pirate Politics, Pirate Ships, Pirates, Scheming Pirates, Slow Burn, The Ranger - Freeform, The Walrus - Freeform, Time Travel, bisexual james flint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 15:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 60,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16600673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinkyLinny/pseuds/KinkyLinny
Summary: “It wasn’t supposed to end like this. How can we all have sacrificed so much and none of us has anything to show for it?”Nassau, 1715. After a quick and unfair trial, a pirate is charged and hanged for crimes against England, and with him dies the Golden Age of Piracy.Nassau, 1715. After a quick and unfair trial, the same pirate is saved from the gallows and lives to tell the tale. That pirate becomes a key figure in the rebellion against the rule of England and the freedom of New Providence Island.What if there were second chances? Third chances? Fourth chances? Would you be able to change the path of the future, and save a man from his own ruthlessness? Would you even want to?





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

_July 2025, Boston University_

The sun was shining brightly, but it was a misty morning, and the campus stood still and empty, vaguely outlined against the dewy sunlight that surrounded it. Summer break was far from over and the building, as well as the elegant well-kept grounds that encircled it, were deserted, casting an eerie silence across the entire structure. Yet deep within the tall building, bright fluorescent lights were burning, illuminating the empty hallway that led to the campus’ laboratory.

It was a research laboratory, and it was empty, cold and quiet as a morgue. The only sound that could be heard was the electrical hum of the numerous computers and other machinery. It carried through the large area like soft background music. The desks were meticulously clean, the microscopes were neatly wrapped in their special covers, and there was no movement of any kind. Yet in the far-right corner, next to a heavy metal door, a green light blinked on a small electrical panel, indicating that the entrance was unlocked. Behind that door another lab was located, one that required special access, for a specific and select group of scientists only.

Inside, stood a messy desk so heavily cluttered that it didn’t even seem to still have a surface. There were notebooks and scissors and pens and ripped up letters and things written down on scraps of paper. There were empty water bottles and even more scraps of paper. There was a novelty mug labeled ‘Lab Rule #1: never lick the spoon’, which still contained a thin layer of dark liquid that had once resembled coffee. And there were papers, and papers, and papers. None of this seemed to bother Evelyn Clarkson however, as she tapped her pen on the desk, leaning back in her chair and mumbling an irritated “for fuck’s sake.” Hours, days, freaking weeks of research, and they still hadn’t come any closer to finding what they were searching for. She wondered briefly if they ever would. If, perhaps, they had bitten off more than they could chew this time, with this project. When she looked over to the other side of the desk, to the man sitting across from her, she recognized the same sense of desperation in his gaze.

“I know,” said Curtis Brown, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as he stood up and stretched his neck. “I know we don’t have much to go on, but we don’t really have enough time to look into it any further.” He started pacing across the room and breathed deeply, resting his hands against a filing cabinet when he reached the wall. The cabinet wobbled, and the plastic tray on top of it toppled over, dropping the papers inside of it in a heap onto the floor. “Crap,” he hissed tiredly, but he made no move to bend down and pick them up.

Evelyn closed her eyes, leaning her elbows on the desk as she rubbed her temples. “You’re right,” she said, sighing dejectedly, “of course you’re right.” She looked back up at him, folding her hands to rest her chin on them. “So,” she continued, “today, then?”

Curtis nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but his cellphone cut him off. He sighed, pulling the mobile from his pocket to check the screen. “Message from Milo,” he said, rubbing his neck, “says he’s got everything, and he’s on his way here. Looks like we’re good to go.”

“Alright then,” Evelyn stood up and gathered a few papers together, brusquely shoving them into a worn leather folder. “Let’s clean this shit up.” She grabbed another folder, stuffing it in one of the desk’s drawers, as Curtis started piling up the papers from the floor.

A few moments later, the metal door behind them creaked slightly as it was pushed open and Milo Evans popped his head around it. “Heads up,” he said as he stepped into the lab, “Vane just called. He’s on his way over as well.”

Evelyn turned around. “Zach is coming?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Why?”

The tall man shrugged his shoulders. “Probably to talk us out of this,” he said and dropped a bundle of clothes on the now cleared out desk. “These are for you, by the way.”

“You cannot be serious,” said the tiny brunette, crinkling her nose as she held up the eighteenth century garments. “People sure did hate women back then, didn’t they?” She eyed the rather complicated-looking lace bindings of an otherwise very pretty corset with disdain. “Seriously, Milo,” she addressed the blond man, “how am I supposed to move around in this, much less breathe?”

Milo chuckled good-naturedly. “You’d think that when you bring a girl new clothes, she’d be over the moon. But not our little Evie.” He had already finished putting on his garb, which consisted of a much more comfortable looking pair of brown breeches, a white linen shirt and a leather vest. A dark grey Monmouth cap completed the outfit, and contrasted beautifully with his golden mop of hair. “Look, it’s not like we’re pretending to be noble people,” he said, “if you don’t like it, I say leave out the corset.” He looked to his left, at the dark-haired beast of a man that stood next to him. “What do you think, Curtis?”

The man smiled and nodded. “Whatever makes you more comfortable, Evelyn,” he said, ever the supportive gentleman. “I’d almost say let’s not change into these ridiculous outfits at all,” he mumbled as he sat down to pull on his boots, “but, you know, with our own holy ‘Protocol of Time Travel’ and all …”

All three let out a simultaneous groan at that, and then laughed wholeheartedly at themselves.

They had come up with the protocol themselves, when they started this secret project. The three of them worked at Boston University. Milo was part of the research faculty at the Department of Pathology & Laboratory Medicine. Evelyn, having finished her Ph.D. the year before, had just started working as a researcher within the Mechanical Engineering Department. And Curtis, the eldest between them, had joined the faculty of Boston University a long while ago, as Professor of History. The fourth member of their little team was Zach, who didn’t work at the university, but had followed one of Curtis’ courses a few years ago. The four had crossed paths at the campus and had become fast friends after that.

The heavy door slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud thud and the trio jumped at the sound of it. Zach sauntered into the room, the sound of his boots drumming across the sterile floor echoing loudly through the silent laboratory. “Don’t you guys look guilty,” he said with a big grin on his face, “one would almost think that you were up to something.”

Evelyn smirked. “Hey Zach,” she said, “you’re here to see us off?” She cocked her head to the side as she addressed him, the long ponytail at the back of her head bouncing along with the movement.

He nodded, strolling up to her and plucking at the dark green skirt that lay on the counter. “You sure you want to go through with this?” he asked her quietly, not quite returning her gaze when she hummed in reply. He was fidgeting, she noticed, and he only ever did that when he was nervous. He raised his stormy grey eyes at her when she remained silent. “I don’t like it,” he told her sternly, “I don’t like the risk you are taking. Don’t,” he said, when she opened her mouth to respond, “don’t say it. I know, okay?” He ran a hand through his long hair and sighed, leaning back against the desk. “I know we don’t have much of a choice here, but I still don’t like it.”

“I’ll be fine, Zach.” she told him, “we’ll be fine. We’ve already made the jump five times before, and we can’t keep doing that without actually _doing_ something. There’s not enough time for that.” She gently rested her hand against his forearm. “I know you wanted to come with us, but we can’t risk it. Besides, you’re needed here. Your wife needs you here. Jamie needs you here.”

Her hand slipped away when he folded his arms across his chest, dipping his head to stare at his feet. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he said gruffly. But there was no venom behind the words. And when he looked up to watch Milo and Curtis as they were getting ready, a sense of desperation shone in his eyes.

“Right,” said Evelyn, grabbing her outfit, “so no corset, right Curtis? I’ll be just a minute, guys.” She quickly disappeared behind a screen that served as a dressing area. Once she was hidden from view, she grimaced slightly and took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than she’d expected. With a rueful smile on her face, she shimmied out of her jeans, and firmly remembered herself why they were doing this.

Jamie, her sweet little nephew, Zach and her sister’s four year old son, a beautiful, sweet and innocent little angel, was ill. Terminally so. And there was nothing that modern medicine could do, as long as they didn’t find a healthy, viable donor. Which they had tried, of course. All of them had been tested, and then tested again, but none of them had been a match. Not even Zach, the boy’s father. Not even Emily, the child’s mother. Not even her, the little champ’s aunt. Not even _one_ of them. And since none of them had any other relatives, it had seemed like that’s where their search for a donor, and all hope for Jamie’s recovery, would end.

But then their friends had stepped up. And that small group of beautiful, intelligent individuals had found another way. A history professor, with a Ph.D. in Intellectual and Cultural History, a scientific researcher, specialized in medical sciences, and a post-graduate in mechanical engineering. Necessity had given them purpose, and with their combined intellect they had managed to create something that none of them had ever really expected to: a way to jump back in time, in order to find any old ancestor of Zach Vane, who could serve as a donor for his son.

Fortunately, the search for Zach’s ultimate ancestor had proven to be quite easy. Apparently, there had been a man back in the eighteenth century, who had been relatively famous, so they had found out quite a lot about the man. Not so fortunately, however, was the fact that this man hadn’t just been famous, he’d been _notorious_. Because he had been a pirate. And a ruthless one at that. And that wasn’t even the tricky part of their current endeavor.

Time jumping was a very specific affair, which had to be carried out with meticulous precision. Having the correct position was everything. The moment you opened up the connection on your side of the time universe, the other end of that bridge would appear at the exact same spot, but in a different time period. The complication in their plan, and the reason why they were all a little nervous, was that as much as they had found about Zach’s ancestor, they still hadn’t figured out exactly where they would be able to locate him.

And yet here they were, getting ready to make that jump anyway, since they were running out of time. Evelyn breathed deeply, shaking the disturbing thoughts from her head. “So,” she said, her voice slightly muffled as she pulled her shirt over her head, “bring me up to speed on the plan here, guys. I know we’re going back to 1715 Boston. But then what?”

“There should be a merchant ship docked at the port,” Milo answered. “The Margaret. We need to try and get ourselves aboard, because that ship is sailing for New Providence Island. And that is where Nassau is located and, hopefully, Zach’s great-great-grandfather.”

Evelyn hummed in understanding, stepping around the screen as she finished dressing, and then conjured up three small devices from her bag. She proceeded to hand one to both Milo and Curtis. “Keep those close to you,” she told them firmly, “remember: no sand, no water. Keep them clean, dry and away from prying eyes.” She picked up her own device and punched in the correct numbers. “Alright,” she said, looking back at her friends and keeping her thumb against the red button, “ready?”

Both Curtis and Milo straightened up and nodded. Zach looked unsure, but then took a deep breath and nodded as well. “Just be careful, okay?” his voice was rough, and the look in his eyes told her how worried he was about this.

“Stop being so sentimental, Vane” Evelyn said drily as she punched in the button and a shimmering portal appeared in front of them. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Zach snorted and shook his head. “You can be a real insensitive bitch when you want to, you know that?”

“And you’re just finding out about this, now?” asked Curtis. Then he shrugged and walked through first, not even bothering to look back.

Milo laughed out loud and slapped Zach on the back. “Relax, my man,” he shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered lazily up to the portal. He turned and smiled, bringing a hand to his brow in mock salute. “Everything will be fine. I’ll look after our little Evie,” he said, moving on through the portal and disappearing from sight.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Zach deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at his sister-in-law. Evelyn simply gave him a small wave and, with a teasing grin plastered on her face, walked backwards through the portal. It simmered another few seconds or so, before vanishing completely, and leaving behind Zach Vane in the now empty lab.

 

* * *

  _July 1715, Boston_

On the other side, Curtis and Milo waited patiently for Evelyn, as she stepped out of the portal and into the eighteenth century. They took a moment, waiting for the last shimmer of the portal to disappear, and then abruptly turned around and headed straight for the port.

The harbor was filled with life and movement. Sailors bustled about the dock to untie the ship’s moorings from the piers and seagulls filled the air with beating wings and shrill cries. It was still early, only moments past sunrise, and the wind blew salt into eyelashes and onto exposed skin.

The ship’s decks were busy; crowded with men that hurried through their daily activities. Nobody noticed the three figures as they made their way over the gangplank between the pier and the ship, effortlessly slipping past the crew and quietly disappearing belowdecks.

“Hoist the anchors! Sails! Man your posts! Posts!” At the brisk commands of her captain, the Margaret spread her sails to the morning breeze and started for the blue ocean, sailing smoothly through the calm waters as it left the port.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic I’ve written in ages, and my first ever in this fandom. It is scary and I’m hella nervous and unsure. Please comment, good or bad. It’ll be nice to hear/know if anyone is at least reading it…


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

_August 1715, aboard the Margaret_

A few days later, Evelyn sat on an upturned barrel at the forecastle, breathing in the salty air and taking in the view. In every direction, the vibrant turquoise ocean met the clear cerulean skies of the horizon. It almost felt like she had been reduced to the size of an atom and then placed in the center of a petri dish; lost in a perfect circle of endless blue.

They’d been sailing on the Margaret for a while now, and she had gradually been getting to know some of the people on the ship. She and her friends weren’t the only passengers on this ship as it turned out, which had made it easier for them to slip by unnoticed amongst the ship’s workers. They were stowaways after all, and they needed to be careful not to get caught. So far though, they’d managed to avoid most of the higher-ranking crew.

She froze when she noticed movement on her right side, but breathed out a sigh of relief when someone she recognized stepped up on deck and stood next to her. “Hello Joseph,” she said warmly, smiling up at the boy. “You are up early.”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Couldn’t sleep no more, with all those people snoring so loudly.” He was young, thirteen or fourteen years old maybe, and still in that awkward phase that teenagers go through when they hit puberty. He was tall, and lanky, and he clearly still needed to grow into his length. The tone of his voice was gruff, but had a tendency to turn into an embarrassing high pitch at the most inconvenient moment. He presented himself as a tough young man, silent and broody. But she could tell that, behind that sturdy exterior, he was a sensitive little boy. It reminded her of her best friend Zach, and the way he had been when they’d met back in high school. So naturally, she had taken an instant liking to this kid.

Evelyn dipped her head in understanding to the boy’s frustration. She too had trouble sleeping belowdecks, smashed in between around twenty or so other people. Loud people. She had thought she’d be lonely once, when she moved into her apartment all by herself a few years ago, but now she desperately missed the pleasant silence of that place. Not to mention the warm comfort of her own bed. She sat up, placing her hands against her back and winced as something cracked when she stretched. That hammock did nothing for her spine. “Well,” she said, looking back up at Joseph, “as long as you’re up, why don’t you come with me to see if we can pry some food out of the cook?” She smirked secretively at the boy, and then laughed as he turned bright red when she winked at him.

They were still quietly laughing amongst themselves as they made their way down the set of stairs leading to the main deck. But they both went completely still when a loud voice suddenly broke through the serene calm of the early morning.

“Sails! Sails! Headed this way! East-northeast!”

Joseph quickly rushed back up the steps, Evelyn close behind him. She squinted up against the clear skies, desperately trying to spot what the man up in the crow’s nest had seen. Next to her, Joseph grabbed her hand and pointed. “There,” he yelled, his voice squeaking in excitement, “right there!”

She followed his gaze and narrowed her eyes, trying to zoom in on the tiny dot on the horizon. Behind them, the captain had stepped up onto the poop deck and was shouting down orders at the crew, who were now wide awake and crowding the upper decks. Evelyn turned and watched as the captain picked up the glass that was handed to him, raising it up to eyelevel to take a closer look.

“Has she raised a banner?” another man yelled up to the crow’s nest.

“The black! Captain, she’s flying the black!”

“Raise all the canvas! Raise the t‘gallants!”

Pure chaos seemed to erupt instantly amongst deck as their ship picked up speed. Men ran back and forth in haste and Evelyn quickly pulled Joseph to the side. There was panic in his eyes and she had to shake him, twice, before he looked at her. “We should get down below,” she yelled at him, “and you need to find your parents and then find somewhere to hide!” He nodded stupidly and she had to forcibly shove him down the steps to get him to start moving. Following shortly behind, she looked back up one more time when she heard the captain screaming out orders again.

“She’s gaining on us! Open the gun ports! Gun crews at the ready!”

As they continued even further down, on their way to the crew’s quarters, the screams of the men above them seemed to fade into the background. Evelyn grabbed Joseph’s arm one more time. “Find your parents, kid. Then get down below and hide. Please,” she added, “stay safe.” He dipped his head once and then turned around to do just that. She stared after him for a moment, swallowing back the panic that forced its way up her throat. Then, she started running the opposite direction, down the orlop and towards the aft of the ship, in search of her friends.

Luckily, Milo and Curtis were exactly where she’d expected them to be; in the gallery leading up to the captain’s cabin. With the captain completely distracted by the possible attack on his ship, this was the perfect time for them to take a peek at the ship’s manifest and find out anything about their current course. She caught up with them just as they reached the captain’s cabin, and quickly closed and locked the double doors behind her as soon as they entered.

“What the hell is going on up there” asked Milo, looking up at the ceiling as if that would provide him with any answers.

“Pirates,” Evelyn responded. “Actual, freaking pirates.” she shook her head, still not quite believing it, and then cringed when something exploded on the ship. “And that would be guns. Firing. At the pirates.” She proceeded towards the large windows of the cabin, staring out. “Or them, firing at us. I'm not really sure at this point.”

“You’re being awfully composed about all this,” Milo quipped.

“No, not really.” Evelyn shook her head, holding up her hands in front of her to show him just how badly they were shaking. “There’s definitely some sort of panic going on here.”

The sound of gunshots, and more explosions could be heard from outside the cabin and someone was shouting. Evelyn frowned. It almost sounded like people were cheering up there.

“Hey,” Curtis piped up at the sound of it, “maybe we’re winning.” He pulled out the captain’s log from one of the heavy desk’s drawers, and sat down as he flipped through the sheets.

Another explosion sounded, nearby this time, followed by several guttural screams, and she cringed again, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. “That didn’t sound like winning to me.”

It went quiet for a moment and all that could be heard within the cabin was the sound of their nervous breathing while they listened. Curtis continued to peacefully leaf through the pages of the captain’s journal as if nothing was amiss. Evelyn stared wide-eyed at the locked double doors of the cabin as if she could see straight through, and directly to the horrors that seemed to be happening behind them. Milo’s gaze just kept flicking between the two of them, not really sure what to do.

A few loud clunks, the sound of metal scraping against wood, made them all freeze. “What the hell was that?” Evelyn whispered, growing more and more panicked by the minute.

Curtis shrugged, but didn’t look up from the ship’s manifest, “probably grapples.”

“Grapples,” Milo repeated dully. “Those iron things, with the hooks, right? Wait, doesn’t that mean-” He was cut off by more screams coming from the deck above them, and the sound of gunshots. He walked over to the doors and laid his ear against it, trying to make out what was going on outside the room. “What the actual f-” he started, before quickly jumping aside as an axe suddenly splintered through the door right next to his head.

The sound of it finally made Curtis snap into action. He jumped up from behind the desk, as the seriousness of their situation finally seemed to dawn on him. “Alright guys!” he yelled out above the racket, “we should probably go now!” He grabbed for his device, and cringed as the wooden door began to give in underneath the pure force of the axe that was brought down upon it.

Before any of them could respond however, the door finally yielded, and Evelyn stared in horror as a pair of strong hands made a grab for her blond friend. “No, Milo!” she screamed as she helplessly watched him being hoisted away by a sturdy looking man with a nasty scar and almost no front teeth.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

* * *

 

_August 1715, aboard the Margaret_

Curtis grabbed Evelyn’s arm before she could run after Milo and his attacker. He quickly hauled her out of sight, and behind the heavy desk of the captain. “Don’t even think about it, Evelyn,” he snapped at her, tugging her down with him.

“What the hell, Curtis,” she responded, trying to yank her arm free, “that’s our friend they just hauled out of here like he’s nothing! We need to go help him!”

She jerked at her arm again, but he didn’t budge. “Evelyn, we are in the eighteenth century, and those,” he pointed upwards, towards the deck where, judging by the sounds of the metallic clang of swords, bangs and guttural screams, a vicious fight was taking place, “are actual pirates. You are from the twenty-first century, and a woman.” He pulled the device from his pocket and pushed it into the palm of her hand. “You need to go back right now. I will go after Milo, and we will follow you as soon as we can.”

“Curtis, I get what you are saying, but you are insane if you believe I’m just going to leave you two behind,” she said, starting to get annoyed. He let her go when she pulled at her arm again. “Besides, you know there’s no way we can make a jump from a moving source. Who knows where I’d end up. And you totally need my back-up right now.”

“No,” he shook his head stubbornly, “I am team leader in this mission, and this is my call. Forget it, and go back, now.” He emphasized the last word as he stared her down. “That’s an order, Evelyn,” he added threateningly.

Was he actually serious right now, trying to pull rank on her like that? “Yeah well, fuck that, Curtis,” she snapped at him heatedly, shoving the device back into his hand, “it’s a stupid order. And I don’t answer to you anyway.” She stood up before he could say anything else and grabbed the first thing she could find, a piece of wood from the splintered door, before bolting after Milo and the man that had attacked him.

She could hear Curtis scrambling after her, huffing and swearing, but she ignored him, as she hurried up the stairs, taking two steps at the same time. It took her a few minutes to find her friend’s blond mop of hair amongst the fighting crowd on deck. It took her less than that to get to him, jumping and ducking between the clashing throng of men. Grabbing onto the wood with both hands as she ran towards Milo, she hurled it at his assailant with all the strength she had. The sickening crack of his skull and the way the man went down immediately after, assured her that the blow had been strong enough.

For a moment, her tall friend just stared at the man laying at their feet. Then he looked up at her. She was staring down at the man as well, panting hard, and still holding onto her weapon as if she expected him to get back up again. “Wow,” Milo said dumbly, “that was pretty awesome, Evie.”

The much-hated nickname shook her from her trance. “Shut up, blondie,” she snapped back automatically, as she let go of her weapon and dropped it to the floor with a thump. She turned around and took in her surroundings, and the fact that this ship was being under attack by pirates and that they were standing smack in the middle of it, finally started to register. “Oh crap,” she breathed, as the panic started to creep back into her again.

“Where’s Curtis?” asked Milo.

Evelyn shook her head in response, grabbing his hand as they looked around for the third man of their party. “There,” she pointed a shaky hand towards the gun deck, where their bearded friend was currently wielding a sword against one of the pirates. Huh. Evelyn cocked her head to the side as she considered them. It looked like those fencing lessons were actually paying off for Curtis. She mentally shook herself and started down the steps towards the gun deck, pulling Milo along with her.

The fight had already begun to die down around them, and before they could reach Curtis, they were cut off by three men who definitely did not look like they were part of the crew of the Margaret. Milo hastily tugged Evelyn behind him as the men pointed their swords and guns at the two of them.

A menacing, ugly man with two missing front teeth stepped up to Milo. “You,” he spewed angrily, “ye slew me mate!” He pointed up towards the man that lay unconscious on the quarterdeck.

“Actually,” Milo said, proudly gesturing towards Evelyn, “that was her. We didn't bring her along just because she’s pretty, you know.”

“Ye’re tellin’ me that a mere lass scuttled Gus?” the man turned around and leaned right into her. “Why’d ye be sailin’ with a silly li’l wench anyhow,” he spat in her face. “Brings bad luck ye know.”

Evelyn cringed back in disgust and wiped the spit from her cheek, “I would give you a nasty come-back about _your_ looks, but Mother Nature has already done such a fine job, I just couldn't compete,” she retorted dryly as she stared right back at him.

“Huh?” was the pirate’s only answer.

“Never mind,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. This man wasn’t just ugly, he was stupid as well.

The man growled when Milo let out an amused snort. “I do believe she just insulted your mother,” the blond-haired man said mockingly, “you just weren’t bright enough to notice.”

Evelyn closed her eyes in exasperation when the pirate answered Milo’s sarcastic quip with a punch in the face and her tall friend went down. “Seriously, Milo,” she admonished him softly, as she held out her hand to help him back up, “you should know better.”

“You know what, I’m not even sorry,” he wheezed, “that was just too easy to pass up.” He grinned, actually grinned, as he stood up and rubbed at his cheek. “Pretty strong right hook, I must admit. But really, it’s just all dumb muscle, that one.”

A hand shot out to stop the dimwitted oaf of a man from charging at Milo again, and both he and Evelyn turned to come to face with a much more handsome pirate. “Granted, Hector never joined our crew because of his overwhelming intelligence,” the curly-haired man said, “but his brute strength and foul temper more than make up for that.” He let go of the ugly beast’s arm and patted his shoulder gently. “Why don’t you go and assist Dooley belowdecks?” The moron nodded dumbly and stomped off, and the handsome man turned towards them, with a charming smile on his face. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said politely with a small flourish, “my name is John Silver.” He raised a well-sculpted dark eyebrow when they continued to silently stare back at him. “And, you are … ?”

“Not interested in sharing pleasantries with a pirate,” Curtis deadpanned from behind Evelyn and Milo. They both looked back at him in surprise. That man was proving to be quite the ninja. They hadn’t even heard him sneak up behind them.

“You’ll change your mind about that once you’ve met the captain,” the man named Silver answered, completely undeterred. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” He pointed at the black banner waving at the pirate ship that laid alongside the Margaret, as if that explained everything.

Evelyn closed her eyes and breathed through her nose, trying to calm herself. When she looked back up, she noticed that both Milo and Curtis were staring at her with a questioning look in their eyes. With a slight shrug she wordlessly told them she didn’t really know what the hell this John Silver was talking about, either.

The man seemed genuinely surprised at the lack of recognition of his, apparently, very famous captain. “Well then,” he continued, “you certainly are a curious lot, aren’t you?” He grinned when an intimidating looking man stepped out on the quarterdeck of the other ship. The man quickly scanned the crowd and, after noticing Silver, started stalking his way over the gangplank towards him. “Speak of the devil,” Silver said brightly, “here comes Captain Flint right now.”

Well, he certainly looked like a devil, with that shaved head and ginger beard. The name didn’t really ring a bell though, so Evelyn chanced a look at her two comrades. Milo seemed just as clueless as she, but Curtis had gone rigid at the mention of the man’s name. She frowned, quickly making sure that Silver had stepped out of ears’ reach. “What do you know about this guy, Curtis?” she asked, not liking the look on his face.

As he was the historian between them, she completely trusted his judgement when he ducked his head and shook it sharply. “This is bad news,” he mumbled so that only she and Milo could hear him. “Captain James Flint was known throughout the West Indies as one of the most feared of all the Golden Age pirates,” he continued, keeping his face neutral as both Silver and the captain were now quietly talking amongst themselves, and slowly started to walk back up to them. “He was a tyrant; known for his ruthlessness. You two better shut up and let me do the talking, since neither of you are known for being subtle, or tactful.”

Milo just shrugged and nodded, completely agreeing with that statement. At times, his self-knowledge was simply commendable. Evelyn huffed and crossed her arms in indignation. But then she remembered that she had already ignored one order from their team leader, and had possibly only proceeded to get them in more trouble because of it. She smartly decided that, perhaps, she should remain quiet as well.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and any kind of feedback are very much appreciated, thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

  _August 1715, still aboard the Margaret_

The three friends quietly stared at Captain Flint, as he halted in front of Curtis and eyed him with a stern look on his face. “Who are you?” the man demanded harshly. “And what the hell were you doing hiding away on a merchant ship?”

“None of them have been very forthcoming in giving us any information yet, Captain” answered John Silver in their stead, “afraid we do not even know their names.”

Curtis raised a single eyebrow at both men. “That’s because we are none of importance,” he responded politely. “We are mere traders, sailing along with the crew of the Margaret in order to get back home.”

“Which is where, exactly?” questioned Flint, his eyes narrowing.

“We would not dare waste your time with our history,” Curtis smoothly avoided the question. “The captain of our ship has surrendered, and I’m sure you have more pressing matters at hand than to question a few simple, harmless travelers.”

Whoa, that was actually pretty slick, Curtis. Evelyn raised an amused eyebrow, impressed at his smooth words. But then, judging by the way he was currently clenching his jaw, this pirate captain didn’t really buy her friend’s story, at all. She bit her lip as it dawned on her. Pirates. Seriously. How the hell were they supposed to continue with their mission when they were held hostage by a bunch of freaking pirates? She quickly scanned the gun deck where they’d all been gathered, searching for a possible escape route, but found none. Unless they’d try and jump the railings and dare to swim their way out of course. But then, even if the fall alone didn’t kill them, they’d probably be shot dead for their efforts. Evelyn shuddered at the thought. Yeah, not really an option. Angling her head slightly to the left, she watched through hooded eyelids as Captain Flint turned to John Silver, giving the man a small nod, silently communicating something to him. She wrapped her arms around herself, subtly slinking back behind Milo when she felt the captain’s shrewd gaze on her. She shivered involuntarily at his sudden consideration of her, as she sensed, with growing unease, that the center of this man’s attention was a very bad place to be.

Captain James Flint was silent as he studied the peculiar trio that stood on the gun deck. He carefully considered what his quartermaster had just relayed to him about what he had learned from them so far. “They don’t fit the part of innocent merchants,” Silver had told him, “they seem far too perceptive, and they were far too skilled in the fight to be mere traders.” He had ginned his usual charming smile when he’d added: “and not just the two men, by the way. The woman as well, tiny as she may be.”

Flint easily understood what the man had meant; these three certainly made for an odd gathering. The dark bearded man had stepped up and acted as if he was their leader. And yet, while the man was undoubtedly quite eloquent, which proved a certain amount of intellect, he wasn’t entirely convinced whether the man was indeed leading this unusual group of explorers.

His gaze moved to the taller, blond haired man, who stood next to his companion in seemingly absolute nonchalance. The man was sporting a nasty bruise on his cheek, which didn’t appear to bother him by any means. He gave the impression to be quite a jester, and therefore almost completely harmless. Yet there was a sharp glint of perceptiveness in those dark eyes, which told him not to underestimate the man.

Their third companion was harder to read. But this was mostly because she kept her head down, hiding her face from prying eyes. Flint frowned as he considered the small framed woman. She had kept quiet through the whole confrontation, and her gaze had remained firmly at the ground, but he could tell by her posture that she was listening to everything that was happening around her. Listening, and analyzing. She appeared, for all intents and purposes, a completely docile creature, as she stood respectfully behind her two male companions, not uttering a single word. But then he noticed the look she shared with the dark haired man, the wordless communication between them, and he realized she was probably an equal partner within this trio, and not the mere mute bystander she pretended to be.

In fact, neither three seemed to be what they were currently presenting themselves to be, and Captain James Flint had seen and heard just about enough to be entirely done with this situation. “Well then,” he mused aloud, making up his mind, “perhaps a little motivation will help them to be more forthcoming.” He watched with slight satisfaction as the woman’s shoulders tensed at the indication behind his words. No, she was certainly not the dimwitted little girl she wanted them to believe.

“Split them up,” he said to Silver, “take the men back to the Walrus and put them down below. They both seem to be protective of the woman, so I would assume they will not cause any trouble so long as we keep them separated.” He threw both of the men a pointed look and smirked at the outrage on each of their faces. “Bring her along to the captain’s quarters,” he jerked his head towards the woman, who still remained admirably calm through all of it, then turned on his heel and left his quartermaster to deal with his orders without another word.

Evelyn froze as she listened to the conversation between the pirate captain and his quartermaster, and once again marveled at how quickly their situation had changed, between just an hour ago and right now. Their plan had been so easy: get on a ship, hide away until they reached New Providence, find Zach’s ancestor, and get the hell back home again. Well, that strategy had completely gone and blown up right in their faces, hadn’t it? And now here they were, stuck in the eighteenth century, taken hostage by pirates! She bit down on her bottom lip in frustration and shivered slightly. The unforgivingly cold sea breeze bit at her skin as if it was punishing her. When she’d sneaked out onto deck this morning, she had figured she wouldn’t need a cloak. She hadn’t expected to be there for long and, favoring mobility above warmth, she’d left it behind. Right now, as she stood shivering in the damp cold of an early morning at sea, she severely regretted that decision.

Another fierce looking pirate suddenly grabbed her by the arm and started to guide her away from her friends. She threw a swift look over her shoulder, but both Curtis and Milo were being restrained as well. Crap. This situation was spiraling out of control way too quickly. She needed to figure out a way to get them out of here, and fast. But the only thing she succeeded in when she started struggling, was a solid slap across her face from the man who dragged her across the deck. And well, that hurt! “That was completely unnecessary,” she huffed at him in indignation, gingerly touching her now bust bottom lip. The man raised his hand at her again, and she instinctively cringed away.

John Silver stepped in between her and her assailant. “I will escort the lady,” he said to the man. “You go on ahead and lead the other two to the Walrus.” The man sauntered off, and Silver turned and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand into the nook of his elbow. “Ma’am,” he said conversationally, “this way, if you please.” It was a polite gesture, kind even, after that brutal smack across the face, and she almost gratefully let herself be led in the direction of wherever that menacing looking pirate captain had disappeared to.

As Evelyn looked around her, she finally took in the carnage that was left behind after the short, but vicious fight against the pirates. Bodies laid scattered around the decks, some heavily mutilated. The pale, grim sunlight that had glistened so blindingly against the blue ocean this morning, now struck shimmers of silver from broken blades. Evelyn trembled as this chilling truth dawned on her. The sun still shone and the wind still blew, but somewhere mothers had now become childless, wives turned into widows, and sons and daughters waited for a father who would never return home again. These men, who were once boys that had practiced sword fights with sticks, now lay dead on the deck of a merchant ship, their sightless eyes as immobile as their limps. The battle was lost, and the enemy had won.

As they started making their way across the main deck, she noticed suddenly that Silver seemed to lean on her more than actually leading her along. She frowned when she felt him wobble a bit and chanced a confused look down, only now spotting the peg leg. He smiled at her when she looked back up at him, but it was strained, and she noticed tiny beads of sweat running down his temples.

“You’re sick,” she stated bluntly, recognizing the telltale signs of a fever. Evelyn examined the man’s profile, her lips curling into a tiny smile as she took note of the frown that crossed his forehead. He didn’t seem to appreciate her scrutiny. Interesting. “You can’t even stand on that leg, much less move around on it, and you are sweating and trembling with fever,” she listed and she felt the muscles in his arm tighten underneath her hand. He still didn’t give her any response however, other than clenching his jaw. “You clearly aren’t well, and yet here you are, leading the attack of a merchant ship instead of your captain,” she pressed on, “Why is that?”

He stopped walking then and turned around to face her. The charming smile was gone and an irritated scowl had taken its place. “Shouldn’t you worry about what is to happen to yourself, and your friends?”

She cocked her head to the side as she considered him. Alright. The missing leg was a touchy subject for John Silver then. “You let on that your captain is quite famous,” she said, trying a different approach, “which I’m sure isn’t because of his heartwarming kindness. Yet for him to bestow this sort of ruthlessness onto his own crew would seem a bit counterproductive.”

“Never mind Flint’s reputation,” Silver said, as he gestured towards the deck, “you can see right here, what the man is capable of.” He gave her another one of his dimpled smiles, as he continued: “So I urge you one more time to worry about your own fate, instead of mine.”

Evelyn turned her gaze back towards the dead whose blood stained the boards of the ship. Her breath caught when her gaze landed on a familiar face amongst them. He laid like a doll on the wooden deck, his arm at an awkward angle and resting his head in such a way it told her he was not sleeping. A shudder surged through her body, as anguish wrapped around her heart. She blinked, gasping for breath. Some things are just too inconceivable, unfathomable in their impossibility. Such as the fact that he was laying there, only a few feet away from her, utterly still and staring up to clear blue sky with unseeing eyes. She couldn’t move. Joseph, that sweet, and young, and innocent boy. Her first friend on this ship, who now laid cold and dead on the bloodstained boards of the gun deck. It wasn't fair, it wasn’t fair, and it hurt. It hurt so goddamned much, it felt as if her chest had been ripped open, leaving her heart raw and exposed, and clenched with sorrow.

Tears stung her eyes and she took in a deep breath, willing herself to look away from the boy’s empty stare, as the harsh reality of this world sank in once again: their ship had been attacked by pirates, and innocent people had lost their lives today, because some brute of a pirate had decided he wished it so.

“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Silver,” she said after somewhat pulling herself together. He was one of _them_ , and they were to blame for this, she reminded herself. And if he so clearly had no problem to inflict this kind of pain on others, then he deserved no less of it himself. She deliberately removed her hand from his forearm, leaving him struggling to keep his balance.

The smile on his face vanished instantly and he averted his eyes quickly, staring straight ahead as he wordlessly grabbed her arm and pulled her along towards the quarterdeck.

Her hands curled into fists, her fingernails digging into the skin. They left behind angry half-moon shaped red prints on inside of her palms. It did nothing to soothe her anger, but then she imagined John Silver’s neck snapping and it made her feel a little better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go. A little bit of Flint, and some more Silver. Let me know what you think?


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

 

_August 1715, still aboard the Margaret_

Inside the great cabin of the Margaret, Captain James Flint stood bent over the heavy mahogany desk as he flipped through the ship’s manifest, lazily rubbing his chin as he did so. His first mate Billy stood a respectable few feet away, quietly looming behind the Margaret’s captain, while they discussed the ship’s cargo and, more importantly, its worth.

They all looked up when John Silver walked in, gently guiding a petite-looking woman into the room. The two seemed to be quietly conversing amongst themselves, and it didn’t seem to be a pleasant chat, but they both quickly stopped talking as soon as they noticed that all men in the room were staring at them. Silver nodded at Flint, smirking humorlessly. “Captain,” he said by way of greeting, lightly prodding the woman forward by her arm.

She huffed and mumbled something inaudible as she pulled herself free. Flint frowned as he studied her. She seemed to be more frustrated than intimidated by her current surroundings, and she still managed to avoid everyone’s gaze as well, he noticed as he walked around the desk. He stepped forward, deliberately invading her space, and his eyes narrowed when his gaze landed on her bust lip. “What happened here,” he demanded, gripping her chin and tilting her face up so that she had no choice but to look at him.

He was met with a pair of defiant, green eyes. “That is none of your concern,” she answered, jerking her head to the side to free herself from his grasp, and taking a few steps back. He moved right along with her, grabbing her wrist, and pulling her back to him before she could move any further. The small, involuntary gasp of surprise that passed her lips was the only indication of her unease. And when she lifted her head to look him in the eyes again, he found her scowling at him. “I cut myself shaving this morning,” she said sarcastically, tentatively wriggling her wrist against his tight hold.

The corner of his mouth curled up in an amused grin at her brass impudence. How he had even for a second believed this spirited little hellion to be passive and demure was beyond him. There was absolutely nothing docile in the way she glared at him, with clear resentment flashing in those emerald eyes and an angry flush of frustration creeping down her neck. The polite yet pointed cough from Silver behind her shook him from his surprised daze, and he squeezed her delicate wrist a little tighter out of spite. 

She didn’t flinch, but he did notice a slight grimace that crossed her face at the continued pressure against her skin. She gritted her teeth in obvious discomfort. “What do you want?” she asked him tersely.

“Why don’t we start with who you are, and then see where that takes us,” he said, and it could’ve been a polite request, if it hadn’t been for the threatening tone of his voice, or the way he continued to keep her pressed against him.

“Alright, fine,” she huffed, more to herself than to him, and she abruptly ceased her struggling against him. “I’ll answer your questions.”

He let go of her, surprised by her sudden surrender, and then took a step back, considering her with suspicion clouding his eyes. “Very well,” he said, pulling out a chair and signaling her to sit down.

She scoffed at the gesture. A courteous pirate. Was there ever a greater oxymoron than that? Yet when she dared to look up into his eyes, she found no kindness in those blue-green orbs, only a dark, ominous threat, and she quickly sat down as told. She swallowed thickly, desperately trying to ignore that primal fear as it rushed through her, and she let her gaze move through the room, shortly resting it on each and every man that occupied it.

The man that sat across from her was probably the captain of the Margaret, she deduced as she noticed his bound hands and unyielding posture. She had never seen him from this close before, as she had tried to avoid all higher-ranking crew, for obvious reasons. The man was older than she’d initially expected, and though he sat ramrod straight in his chair, proudly holding his chin up, he seemed genuinely fearful of the pirate captain that was keeping him there.

Another man, imposingly tall, but with gentle eyes, stood behind him. The way he was dressed, and with all those weapons strapped beneath the several belts that crossed his torso, made her assume that he was part of the pirate crew. But the mildness in those dark blue eyes made him seem out of place. Huh, she mused, her lips quirking up at the thought, another paradox.

She gazed at John Silver, who stood leaning against the cabin’s doors, effectively making sure that no one got in or out. Out of all three pirates currently present in the room, he was the one to actually look the part. This was mostly due to the peg leg of course, though that didn’t take away anything from the sheer attractiveness of the handsome man. But where the tall man’s blue eyes seemed sincere and gentle, this man’s stare was sharp, and calculating.

Evelyn let out a deep breath before she finally, reluctantly, looked back up at the fourth man in the cabin.

Captain Flint leaned back against the heavy desk, his arms folded across his chest as he studied the woman. The grand, wooden chair seemed to very nearly swallow her petite frame. She almost resembled a porcelain doll, with that pale skin and those delicate features. Yet behind that fragile façade she had demonstrated to have a sound mind, combined with an attitude that could match any of his crew. Even now, surrounded by savage pirates and clearly at a disadvantage, her posture remained obstinately stoic as she studied each of them. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow when her gaze landed on him, but she merely cocked her head sideways and blinked innocently, refusing to speak unless he commanded her to.

“Your name,” he bit out, irritated at the stubbornness of her. 

“Evelyn Clarkson,” she said calmly.

“And your companions?” 

“Curtis Brown and Milo Evans.”

“And why were you hiding away on this ship?”

“I do believe Curtis already explained this to you: we weren’t hiding.”

“Then why doesn’t Captain Walker here seem to know any of you?”

“Well, there _was_ rather a large slew of people aboard the Margaret,” she said, pointedly emphasizing the past tense of that sentence, “I sincerely doubt the captain knows everyone by name.”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the end of the desk tightly. Breathing out through his nose, Flint desperately attempted to keep his patience at her short, meaningless answers. “That might very well be, miss Clarkson,” he said through gritted teeth, “but you’d think there’d be mention of three extra passengers in the ship’s manifest.”

“Yes, you would think so,” she agreed evenly, directing her eyes towards Captain Walker, “I suppose the captain’s bosun simply failed to register us. We did board rather shortly before we set sail, after all.”

Flint dipped his head, redirecting his steely gaze to the other captain, silently demanding an answer from the clearly terrified man.

Captain Walker looked back and forth between them with wide eyes, and shrugged helplessly. “I would demand an answer from the man right now, Sir. But I’m afraid Mr. Harrison did not survive the battle against your crew.”

Evelyn lowered her gaze to the floor, frowning at the relief that rushed through her. She had just been told that a man had lost his life. And here she was, more or less glad about the fact since it meant that he could no longer argue with her lie. She felt Captain Flint’s eyes on her and tried to keep her face neutral as she raised her head to return his gaze.

“How convenient,” said Flint, clenching his jaw as he took note of the slight challenge in Evelyn’s eyes. “Billy, restrain her,” he suddenly barked at the tall man standing behind Walker, “and take her to the Walrus. If she doesn’t want to cooperate, then she can keep her friends company while we finish our business here.”

“Seriously?” she said, eyeing the heavy manacles that the tall man had suddenly produced out of thin air, “how is this fair? I’ve been nothing but cooperative!” she sprung up from her chair, clenching her fists in indignation.

“No, you have not,” Captain Flint snapped at her. “In fact, you’re not being very accommodating at all, miss Clarkson,” he said, irritation lacing his voice as he grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back down into the chair. “And did you not agree to tell us all?”

She tilted her head to one side. “I promised you no such thing, captain,” she said and she didn’t even flinch at the murderous look in his eyes when he stared her down. “I said I’d answer your questions, which is exactly what I’ve done,” she continued serenely, with a completely deadpan expression.

Christ, her composure was something else altogether! His nostrils flared and a nerve started to twitch in his cheek as he turned his back to her. “Get her out of here,” he commanded, the tone of his voice final, and leaving no place for argument.

The tall man, Billy, she now knew his name was, gave her an apologetic shrug as he took hold of her hands almost tenderly to close the pair of heavy handcuffs around her wrists. He didn’t appear entirely comfortable to be shackling a woman. “Don’t worry,” she reassured the giant of a man quietly so that only he could hear, “this won’t last long.” She smiled softly at him when looked at her with confusion in his eyes.

“ _Now_ , Billy!” Captain Flint’s voice boomed through the cabin threateningly.

It spurred Billy into action and he, still ever so gently, grabbed her by the arm and guided her out of the captain’s quarters, and back onto deck.


	6. Chapter 6

_August 1715, aboard the Walrus_

* * *

 

“Evelyn!”

Curtis’ relieved voice was the first thing that greeted her when she stumbled into the hold after Billy. Evelyn granted her friends a lopsided smile. “Hey guys,” she said, watching as Billy tightened the other end of her shackles to an iron ring that was attached to the wall. The man still seemed conflicted about following his captain’s orders to shackle a woman down belowdecks, and she actually almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He was still tying her up, after all.

“So,” Evelyn addressed her two companions conversationally, after Billy stepped out of the room and locked the door behind him, “how exactly did you guys manage to miss the fact that the Margaret was captured by pirates? Didn’t you do any homework before deciding to board this particular ship?” she leaned back against the wall as she stared down both her team members.

Milo shuffled his feet awkwardly and Curtis cleared his throat, as both tried to look away from her.

“You dumbasses!” she hissed angrily at them.

“Hey, we didn’t screw up that much!” Milo huffed in return, as if insulted by the mere suggestion of it.

“We are chained,” she paused a moment, and held up her shackled hands for effect, “chained to a wall, in the belly of a freaking pirate ship. I think it’s safe to say that you did screw up that much.”

“Yes well, getting angry won’t get us anywhere,” Curtis said, ever the levelheaded one of their team.

He was right of course, Evelyn realized with a sigh. Her nerves were frayed, and the building anxiety made her lash out at her friends. It was something she did often, something like a coping mechanism, to hide any stress or insecurity behind a mask of detached anger. And it usually worked, with strangers. But it wasn’t fair to use it against Curtis and Milo. The knowledge didn’t do much to soothe her anger though, and she closed her eyes and breathed through her nose for a moment, trying desperately to calm her temperament. “Alright,” she let out another deep breath and opened her eyes again, her need for practicality kicking in, “first, let’s get out of these shackles.” She raised her bound hands to her hair and pulled out a bobby pin, proceeding to pry it open between her teeth.

“Ah … you know,” Milo said, his eyes growing large in clear confusion at her actions, “I don’t really think this is the time to worry about what your hair looks like, Evie.”

She huffed in response, rolling her eyes as she unceremoniously jammed the hairpin into the lock of the manacles around her wrists. “Well then,” she told him as she juggled the pin around until she heard a loud and satisfying click, “I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not just here to look pretty.” The heavy iron bindings sprung open and she continued to let them slide off her hands with a smug grin on her face.

Curtis grinned proudly, greedily holding out his bound hands to her. “Zach taught you that, didn’t he?”

“Huh,” said Milo stupidly, after she nodded in reply, “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or worried about this hidden talent of yours.”

Tugging up a shoulder in response, she quickly moved along to free both of her friends from their shackles. “Does it really matter?” she asked, dropping the thick chains to the wooden floor with a clunk.

“Not one bit,” the blond man agreed, rubbing his wrists and smiling broadly at her. He jerked his head towards the heavy doors of their holding cell. “How far does that skill of yours go?”

“Oh, I’m sure I could pick that lock as well,” she said with complete confidence, “but we’re still on a ship, out at sea. How far do you think we could get, before someone caught us? And also, where would we go?”

Curtis nodded. “Right. And since it’s pretty much impossible to make a time jump from this exact spot …”

“… we are totally stuck down here,” Milo finished for him, as he sunk himself down onto the floor with a heavy sigh.

Evelyn closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as she sat down on an empty crate across from him. “Pretty much, yeah. Or at least until we get some land under our feet.”

“And who knows when that will be.” Curtis scoffed irritably. “Did that pirate captain reveal anything to you about his plans? Why are we the only ones of the Margaret crew to be taken hostage anyway?”

“Probably because we aren’t exactly part of the crew.” Evelyn retorted drily, plucking at a loose thread on the skirt of her dress.

“Well yeah,” Milo answered, “but the captain doesn’t know that.”

Curtis let out a humorless chuckle at that, “Oh please, we are no sailors. It doesn’t take a genius to notice that. And somehow, I don’t think that man is stupid.”

“Me neither,” Evelyn shook her head and shivered as she remembered Flint’s sharp gaze. “That man is one calculating, ginger bastard.”

“What about the other one, with the peg leg?” Milo asked. “He seemed nice enough. D’you think we could get anything out of him?”

“Already tried that,” she said. “Wasn’t as nice as he pretended to be. So yeah, we don’t like him, either.”

The door suddenly swung open behind them, and they all looked around as it slammed back against the wall. When she looked up, Evelyn’s eyes met with a weary looking Billy who stepped into the room, followed by John Silver, whose gaze went straight to their unbound hands. “I thought you’d restrained them?” he asked sharply, raising an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at the ship’s first mate.

“Told you it wouldn’t last long,” Evelyn said at Billy’s dumbfounded face.

She could’ve sworn she saw the corner of Silver’s mouth twitch in amusement, but the man turned around just a tad too quickly for her to be entirely sure. “Get these pests up on the main deck, would you Billy,” he said evenly, “they might as well make themselves useful while they’re here.”

As they were brought up, Evelyn narrowed her eyes and held a hand to her brow to shield her eyes against the bright sunlight. Silver started a long line of questioning, and her mind started to wander. Christ, that man loved to hear himself talk, she thought, as she stared out at the vast and endless blue of the ocean that surrounded them. They were well on their way again, she noticed, and the Margaret was nowhere in sight anymore. She frowned as her thoughts went to Joseph. She hadn’t seen his parents when they passed his corpse. Had they even survived the battle? Had they found out about the death of their son the same way she had? Had they by now wrapped his body in a linen shroud, to prepare it for its watery grave? Had that fucking pirate even spared _any_ of them? Disturbing images of a sinking ship and the terrified screams of those still on board rushed through her, one terrible image following the next with lightning speed.

Tears sprung to her eyes and she pressed a hand to her chest in a vain attempt to stop the dread that was already halfway up her throat. A warm, soothing brush of fingers against her right hand made her jump, and she looked up into comforting brown eyes. Milo’s gaze was kind, and understanding, and she granted him a small, watery smile in thanks, curling her fingers around his. The feel of it comforted her a little, and she closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. At least they were still together, the three of them. And together they would find a way to get out of here.

She was so caught up in her own turmoil that didn’t notice that they were being watched from the quarterdeck. Captain Flint frowned as he studied the peculiar trio. He’d noticed them the minute they’d stepped on deck, curious lot as they were. He supposed that his quartermaster had had a point, when he had suggested to put the three of them to work, while they tried to find out just exactly who they were and what their goal was. The bearded man had been quite the swordsman, Silver had told him. And while the tall man’s sharp wit had only served to get him into trouble back on deck of the merchant ship, it did prove that the man had a certain intellect. And the Walrus truly could use both those qualities in its crew. Particularly now, as they continued to wage their war against civilization, and Flint needed his name to cement fear in the world.

His gaze travelled back towards the woman, as she stood proudly between her two companions. He wasn’t sure what to make of her yet. He watched as she turned away from the conversation, staring blindly towards the sea, while the men started to argue with his quartermaster. She didn’t seem interested to take any part in the conversation and simply continued to stare off into space. It was only when the tall man grabbed her hand that she reacted, and Flint didn’t fail to spot the warmth in the man’s gaze as he looked down at her. He looked over at Silver, realizing that his quartermaster had noticed the very same thing, and he gave the man a slight nod, wordlessly giving him the order to proceed as they’d agreed. The relationship between these three was a close one, and they would not be pirates if they didn’t use that fact to their own advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you there! Yes, you! You, reading this right now! Liked it, loved it, hated it? Please let me know ... ? Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

_August 171_ _5_ _,_ _still aboard the Walrus_  

* * *

 

It had been weeks now since they had last set foot on land, and Evelyn was growing restless. With every day that passed they were even further away from completing their mission. And it wasn’t just that, she also felt that, which each passing day, she was that much further away from home, and her family. And she missed them. She missed hanging out with Zach; talking shit and tinkering on their motorbikes. She missed playing around with Jamie, her adorable little nephew, who was the reason she was here in the first place. She even missed her sister Emily, who she’d never really been that close with. They never really had that much in common: Emily was the beautiful girly-girl, and Evelyn was the plain tomboy. But then Zach had come into their lives. Evelyn had met him in high school, and they’d been best friends since their first day there. And then, years later, during their graduation, she introduced him to her sister. And the two fell in love, and got married five years later, and her best friend became her brother. And he’d been building bridges between her and her sister ever since. 

Evelyn took a deep breath. Thinking about her family only made her miss them even more. She looked up and around from where she was perched on a crate on the quarterdeck. Just a week ago, on the Margaret, she had enjoyed this view so much; endless blue waters from left to right. It had been soothing, and comfortable. Right now, it made her feel even more anxious. Back on the Margaret, she might not have known their exact course, but she had at least known where they were headed. Right now, she had no idea where the hell they were or what their destination would be. 

None of these pirates had bothered to enlighten her or her two friends about their current course. But then again, to be fair, Evelyn mused, most of them probably weren’t even smart enough to understand just exactly what a course was. She watched one of the crew fumble around, trying _–and failing–_ to secure the ropes of the ratline. She rolled her eyes at the man’s incompetence. Seriously. How had this crew managed to survive this long, with so many idiots aboard that were stupid enough to get themselves killed just by simply forgetting how to breathe? 

“Give me that,” she snapped at the man she’d been watching, and she held out her hands towards the ropes, “let me show you how to do that properly.” 

The man snarled at her in frustration, but then threw a quick look over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking, and handed over the two ends. She had been pointing out loose lines, torn canvas, and broken riggings to the crew before, and he had learned that this woman knew a fair share about sailing. It had struck him as odd first, that a woman could know so much about the workings of a ship, but he was just smart enough to keep his mouth shut about it, and to simply watch and learn from her expertise. Much as he did right now, carefully observing as she showed him how to tie a particularly intricate looking knot, tying the loose ends together perfectly. He gave her a toothless grin when she handed him the now perfectly fixed rigging, and she nodded politely in return. 

She suddenly had the strange feeling of being watched, and angled her head slightly, noticing from the corner of her eyes that John Silver had limped up on the quarterdeck and was staring straight at her. He stood near the helm, and leaned against the mizzenmast with a face of utter nonchalance. She moved her gaze discretely to Captain Flint, who was standing next to Silver, and well, she figured that the look of disgruntled aggravation on that man’s face was probably a permanent one. They were involved in a deep discussion, but she stood too far away to make out any words. And once again, Silver’s gaze found hers. It almost seemed like he was smiling, as if something good was about to happen, and she swallowed nervously. Something good for that man most likely meant not-so-good for herself, and her friends. 

For whatever unfounded reason, she hadn’t expected real-life pirates to be this cunning, or this ruthless, or this _dangerous_. Growing up, she had always fantasized about what it’d be like to live like a pirate. Until now. Damn all those pirate movies. Captain Jack Sparrow had given her some very unrealistic expectations. She wasn’t naïve; she’d expected that it wouldn’t be anything like the movies, of course. And she had done her homework on life and its dangers in the eighteenth century, before they made the jump to this time period. But reading about it, and then actually living in it … well, those were two very different things altogether. She turned her back to the two men on the quarterdeck, pointedly ignoring Silver’s stare, and leaned against the railings to look down, hoping to spot one of her friends at the main deck. 

They had meticulously kept her and her friends separated from each other, right after they had been taken out of the hold. She figured that, perhaps, picking the locks of their manacles hadn’t been such a great idea after all. In doing so, she had basically shown them that she wasn’t a harmless and scared little girl. And now, as a result, John Silver kept watching her every move like a hawk. She could feel his eyes burning holes at the back of neck right now. 

She had been locked inside one of the officer’s quarters, forced to assist the crew by keeping the ship’s accounts. She was only allowed to go out up on the quarterdeck, and only if either Silver, Billy Bones or the captain himself were there to keep an eye on her. That fucking quartermaster did everything he could to keep her away from Curtis and Milo, using her, and the close friendship between the three of them, to keep both her friends in check. 

Ever since Silver had found out about his medical skills, Milo was either down at the infirmary, with the ship’s surgeon, or back up at the gallery, tending to John Silver and his rotting stump. Evelyn scoffed at the thought: if it were up to her, she’d recommend amputating the man’s leg somewhere just around the height of his neck. Sly and scheming bastard. There was one positive side to it though: she’d been allowed to assist Milo whenever he came up to clean Silver’s wound. And that meant she still got to talk to her tall friend on a daily basis, even though the quartermaster was breathing down their necks the entire time. 

But she hadn’t seen or heard from Curtis for almost a week now. Silver had kept him cooped up in the cook’s room, which was located somewhere at the ship’s bow. And if he wasn’t in there, then he was rushing around the ship, running errands for that crazy fuck of a captain. The only time they had any chance to talk to each other was usually at mess, but Curtis hadn’t been down in the galley for six days straight now, and she was beginning to get worried about him. 

“Prepare to drop anchor! Make ready the longboats!” 

The shouts stirred her from her reverie, and after blinking a few times to focus, she noticed with a frown that they were nearing a beach. As she looked around, she found that Silver was nowhere to be seen. But Flint still stood on the quarterdeck, peering at the land that was looming into view, appearing every inch the dangerous pirate captain he was. She studied him as he leaned against the railing, the way his hands gripped the banister, the way his eyes crinkled as he stared ahead. It struck her how, even now, days away from fresh supplies and cleanliness, this man managed to look remarkably vigorous. 

“Miss Clarkson?” she looked around to find Billy Bones standing behind her. He pointed to the door that led to the gallery. “I’m here to escort you back to your cabin.” 

She smiled at his awkwardness. Despite the circumstances, she rather liked the first mate. The tall man had apparently been appointed her personal guard, and she honestly couldn’t say that she minded it too much. He continued to be gentle and polite to her. And he actually seemed genuine about it as well. Whereas John Silver clearly only treated her with kindness when it best suited him. She knew that the quartermaster had been the one to convince the captain to grant her the more comfortable lodgings she was now staying at, but at the same time she realized that he’d only done so to keep a close eye on her. 

Well, that, and also to put their first mate at ease. Billy had not been comfortable to keep a woman prisoner on their ship. She had overhead them argue about it only a few nights ago. Something about it ‘ _not making them any better than Ned Low_ _,_ _or Charles Vane_ ’. Her ears had perked up at that name, but unfortunately, they’d only continued on about Captain Flint and how they needed to keep him in check, and she had tuned out the rest of that conversation. She wasn’t really interested in the captain, or the demons that supposedly haunted him. Besides, she had already learned more than enough from the tiny snippets of information that she had gathered so far. Apparently, the captain had suffered a great personal loss only recently, which had driven him mad with grief. And well, she hadn’t really noticed much of anything that resembled an emotion in the man, besides the constant aggravation of course, but she was most definitely convinced that he was mad. And that was enough reason for her to keep as much distance from the captain as she possibly could. 

Tilting her head, she gave Billy an inquisitive look as he led her down the stairs and towards the gallery. “You’re going ashore?” she asked. “Why?” His only answer was to frown down at her, the look on his face telling her precisely nothing, and she chuckled. “Alright, fine. You keep your secrets, Mr. Bones,” she said as he opened the door for her and then stepped aside to let her walk in. Another one of his rueful smiles told her that he enjoyed locking her up just as much as she appreciated being imprisoned herself. But the door was shut nonetheless and the affirming click told her it was now locked behind her as well. 

Sitting down at the window seat, she took a deep breath and stared out the window, trying to make sense of the situation. Why would they be going ashore at a moment like this? The ship’s supplies weren’t nearly depleted enough for them to risk going to land yet. And they weren’t carrying that much loot in the hold, either. She knew this, because she was the one keeping the ship’s books. What was this madman of a pirate captain planning? And why was he taking such a risk by personally going on an expedition to shore that wasn’t even needed? 

As she continued to stare out the window, she noticed suddenly that not only Billy and the captain were climbing down the rope ladders, but that about a dozen men of the crew were piling into the longboats as well. She sat up, tilted her head to the side and tapped a finger against her lips in consideration. Opportunity. Wasn't that something Silver had been going on about a few days ago, after she’d fed him just a little too much rum before Milo cleaned his wound? This right here certainly seemed like an opportunity to her. She waited for the longboats to be far enough away from the ship, before scrambling herself off her seat, and leaping towards the locked door of her cabin, hairpin at the ready.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to the people who took the time to leave a comment, or hit the kudos button.  
> It is much, much appreciated! And yes, that was a not-too-subtle hint to keep doing that. ;-)


	8. Chapter 8

_August 1715, inside Evelyn’s cabin_     


* * *

 

It seemed that at least one of her friends had come up with the exact same idea, because as soon as she pulled the door open, she walked straight into Curtis. He stood right behind her door, carrying a lantern in his hand and a sheepish smile on his face. Relief washed over her at the sight of him, and she smiled brightly as she gladly stepped into the hug when he opened up his arms to her.

“Hey Evelyn,” he said kindly as they pulled away to look at each other, “it’s been a while since we last talked, kid.”

“Too long,” she agreed happily. “I haven’t seen you all week, and I was really starting to get worried.”

Curtis nodded. “Yeah, I was getting worried about-”

They froze when they heard footstep coming up the stairs from the orlop, and then let out a simultaneous breath of relief when Milo’s blond head came into view as he stepped up into the gallery. He held a finger to his lips and pointing back down the stairs he’d just used. “Silver is down below, in the infirmary,” he whispered, before ushering them back into Evelyn’s cabin.

Once inside, Milo happily turned towards his friends. “So, how’s everyone been doing?” he asked, sitting down at the table and propping his feet up onto it. He leaned back in his seat, placing his hands behind his head and looked up at them with a big grin on his face. He looked utterly relaxed, and it was just so typically Milo that Evelyn couldn’t help but chuckle as she took the seat right next to him. This man possessed the remarkable ability to make her feel at ease, simply by being around.

Even Curtis seemed to be more calm now that they were all together again. He was leaning back against the door with his arms folded across his chest, and a reluctant smile on his face. “I don’t know about the two of you,” he said, “but I’m quite ready to leave this place behind and get back to our own time.” He sighed and shook his head pensively. “Don’t get me wrong; I love history, but actually living in it is no picknick. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really miss the modern world.”

“Tell me about it,” Evelyn said dramatically, as she propped an elbow against her chair’s backrest and leaned her chin in her hand. “You know what I really miss about our time? Personal hygiene.” She sighed wistfully before she continued, “I’d really like to wash my hair, and I don’t think I ever really appreciated my toothbrush until now.” She reached out to gently pull on a lock of Milo’s curly blond hair, when he laughed at her. “Shut up,” she told him, pulling back her hand and crinkling her nose, “that mop of yours desperately needs a good wash as well by the way.”

“Nah, I’m good. Besides,” he answered with another one of his infectious grins, “I could always shave it off, like Flint. It makes for a surprisingly badass pirate look.”

“Oh please, you don’t have the charisma to pull that off.”

“Yes. Well. Anyway.” Milo said, pointedly changing the subject. “Speaking of things that we’re missing from our time; I miss my iPhone!”

“Your phone,” Evelyn lifted up her head in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I had a pretty good game of PirateFleet going on with Zach,” he said, giving her a peeved look, “I just needed one more win to take over his entire fleet.”

“Well, that seems strangely fitting, considering where we are right now.” Curtis said with a blank face.

“Right,” Milo said, growing serious, “about that; we should probably come up with some sort of plan to get us off this ship.”

Evelyn nodded in agreement. They were definitely wasting precious time being stuck here on this ship. Zach, Emily and their little boy were counting on them. They were supposed to be in Nassau right now, trying to find a man by the name of Charles Vane. “What do you suggest?” she asked. “Silver has been keeping such a close eye on me, that I’m not comfortable enough to even think about making a move to escape.”

“Can’t we just use our devices and, you know, jump back to our own time?” Milo suggested. “I mean, it won’t help us find Zach’s ancestor, but at least we’d be off this ship and far away from these pirates, right? ”

“Making a time jump directly from the ship is way too risky. We’re out at sea, and God knows where we are exactly.” Curtis clicked his tongue and shook his head. “We would end up somewhere in the water, in the middle of nowhere when get back to our own time, only without anything to take us to shore.”

“And then we won’t be able to make another jump to get out of it either.” Evelyn added thoughtfully. “The devices aren’t water resistant, remember?”

“Fuck. I guess that means swimming is out of the question then.” Milo brushed a hand through his already messy mop of hair in frustration. “Then we’ll need a boat to get us to shore first, before we can make a time jump.”

Curtis sighed deeply as he pushed himself off the door. He sat down heavily in one of the chairs across from them. “Sure kid, let’s do that,” he scoffed sarcastically. “The longboats are stored on the main deck. I’d like to see you try and get one of those things down into the water without alerting anyone.”

They let out collective breath in desperation. Evelyn continued to rest her chin in her hand, her eyes glazing over as her mind went through different possible scenarios. Milo slumped forward and lowered his forehead to the table with a thump, mumbling a frustrated “fucking pirates” as he did. Curtis quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, silently agreeing with the blonde’s heartfelt statement.

“What if we try to get someone from the crew to help us?” Evelyn asked hesitantly.

“That’s an even stupider suggestion than mine,” Milo said dryly, without raising his head from the table. “Why the hell would any of those pirates help us?” He sat up, and looked at Evelyn, playfully wiggling his eyebrows. “Unless you can woo one of them by playing the damsel-in-distress.”

“Fuck you, Milo.” She chuckled, and rolled her eyes. “Seriously though. I think I could possibly sway Billy Bones to help me. He doesn’t seem to really like the captain, so I don’t think he would have much of a problem going up against the man.”

Curtis nodded. “Actually, there’s a whole bunch of men that don’t necessarily trust Flint. I overhead a few of them talking during mess the other day. It shouldn’t be that hard to win a few of them over and turn them against the captain.” He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “But if we want to make that work, then we should beware of that quartermaster. That man does seem loyal enough to Flint.”

“So, wait,” Milo said, holding up his hand, “are we seriously going full-on pirate then, making alliances and shit?” He grinned and slammed his hand against the table enthusiastically. “This is going to be so awesome!”

They laughed, but then quickly fell silent when they heard footsteps up on the deck above them. It sounded like Billy and the captain were returning from their little escapade ashore. It brought along a lot of fuss up on deck, and Milo and Curtis made good of use of that to quietly slip out of Evelyn’s door. 

They quickly said their goodbyes, as both Curtis and Milo took off towards their respective parts on the ship, leaving Evelyn behind in the gallery. She frowned at the sounds of hurried footsteps and voices above her, and when she recognized Billy’s voice, she decided to stay there a little while longer, to listen in on the conversation between him and the captain.

“The men did well under the circumstances,” came Billy’s voice.

“Not all of them,” Flint grunted. “Lost his nerve. I want him replaced on the Vanguard before we go over the side again.”

“He lost his footing,” answered Billy. “I don't think it had anything to do with his nerve.”

“Replace him.” The captain’s voice was terse, and irritable. 

Angry footsteps thundered on the deck above her, and Evelyn quickly managed to duck behind a few crates to avoid being seen by Flint as he came down the stairs. She swallowed thickly as she stared at him from behind her hiding place. He had his usual angry scowl on his face and a crazed look in his eyes. As he pulled the turban off his head, she noticed several small cuts along his cheek, and across his nose. And then she noticed the blood. It covered his fingers, his hands, his shirt, and even his boots. She froze and held her breath when brushed straight past her hiding spot. But Flint didn’t seem to notice, and entered his quarters, angrily slamming the door shut behind him.

“He's getting worse,” she heard Silver say above her.

“He's fine,” answered Billy.

“Are you sure about that?”

“We just faced a band of colonial regulars out there.” Billy’s voice now sounded irritated as well. “He's entitled to a mood.”

Things quieted down after that, until she heard the distinct sound of John Silver coming down the stairs. Really, the man’s peg leg was a dead giveaway. She quickly sneaked back into her room and pressed an ear against the wall between her own and the captain’s cabin, just as Silver appeared to enter the room. “Your days of approaching unannounced are behind you,” she heard Flint say, and she smirked at that. Despite being crazy as fuck, the man still seemed to have some sort of sarcastic sense of humor. And the fact that it was aimed at that cunning quartermaster of his only added to her amusement.  


The two men started discussing the raid ashore, and the risks that the captain had taken, and apparently still continued to be taking. Evelyn shivered involuntarily when they mentioned the fact that Captain Flint was now the name of grim death for their enemies, and she immediately remembered the blood that had stained his hands, and his clothes. She wondered briefly if she and her friends were considered enemies in this man’s eyes as well. The men in the other room resumed their talk about some sort of war and the blood that had been spilled and would be spilled for their cause. It was only when Silver mentioned the loss of someone by the name of Mrs. Barlow that the conversation took a turn for the worse. And shortly after, the quartermaster was unceremoniously thrown out of the room.

Sitting back down at the window seat, Evelyn gazed at the outside world as she contemplated the conversation she had just overheard. Mrs. Barlow. She had been Captain Flint’s personal loss then. He had turned mad with grief over a woman. She had thought the captain to be nothing more than a ruthless monster, and his only aim to be death and destruction. But now it seemed that this man was human after all, and Evelyn quickly filed that piece of information away in her mind for future benefit.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. So. This was fun, writing the next few chapters. Just because Silver is a little shit who deserves to be put in his place. And also because he needs a little tough love sometimes. But mostly because I needed something light and fun to fill my time while I was thinking about where I want to take this story next.

_August 1715, in the Walrus’ infirmary_

* * *

 

Today was not a good day for John Silver.

Frankly, every single day since they had left behind Charlestown could be described as ‘not a good day’ for Silver. But today seemed to be a particularly bad day. And not only because his stump continued to bother him, with that prosthetic iron leg constantly pressing painfully into the still open wound just below his knee. Not because he had once again been bluntly shoved to the sideline by Captain Flint, as proven by the way he had been chucked out of the man’s cabin last night. Not even because their first mate Billy Bones still remained to be a firm pain in the ass to him, or because of those three new additions to the crew, whose deal he still hadn’t managed to figure out yet.

No, today mostly felt exceptionally bad because the quartermaster had awoken this morning with a furious hangover from hell. He had, rather uncharacteristically, proceeded to drink himself into quite a stupor last night, in a vain attempt to ease his pain with a bottle of rum, as any self-deprecating pirate would. So really, he only had himself to blame for his current predicament. And he did. Because, as it turned out, even his own alter ego seemed to have it in for him. Drunk Silver had apparently believed it to be a splendid idea to take off his iron prosthetic and leave it on the floor right next to the bed, which had led to hungover Silver to roughly stub his toe against it when he swung his one good leg over the edge of the mattress in the morning.

As a result, a very grumpy Silver now sat in the infirmary, with a pounding headache, a still consistently aching and infected stump, and a painfully throbbing and bleeding big toe on his one remaining foot.

And just when he thought that this day could not possibly get any worse, the door of the infirmary swung open and an infuriatingly joyful looking Milo Evans sauntered in, whistling a cheerfully false tune as he did. The man stopped short when he noticed the quartermaster sitting on the one bed that occupied the room and sniffed, theatrically wrinkling his nose. “Phew,” he breathed out, waving a hand in front of his face, “this room smells like something curled up and died in a corner somewhere.”

A grunt which resembled something between a moan and a bestial growl was Silver’s only answer, as he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

Milo smirked at his discomfort, and walked across the room to open up a window. “Or maybe it’s just you,” he beamed as he looked at the quartermaster, who opened one eye to glare at him. “You seem unwell, Mr. Silver.” Milo said, gleefully stating the obvious, and way too loudly at that, and once again Silver merely gave him some sort of affirming noise in reply – a noise that did not sound entirely human.

The blond man grinned at the response, walking over to one of the many shelves in the room and starting to noisily go through the countless pots and jars that were stacked there. The loud clanging noise of glass against glass made Silver cringe, and the man pressed a hand against his forehead in agony. “I don’t care what you are doing, Mr. Evans,” he groaned, “just, please, go do it somewhere else.”

“Stop whining like a baby, Mr. Silver,” Milo simply said without taking his attention away from the bottles he was sifting through, “it doesn’t suit your station.” He picked up one of the bottles and uncorked it. He frowned at it for a moment, then sniffed its contents and nodded in approval before handing it over to Silver. “Here, drink this.”

Silver took the bottle and regarded it suspiciously, before giving Milo a confused look.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Milo said, impatience written across his features. “Drink up!”

After another doubtful glare, the quartermaster simply shrugged and brought the bottle to his mouth, taking a big swig. And instantly started coughing and spluttering, desperately wheezing for air. “For fuck’s sake!” the man spat out, gasping for breath. “Are trying to bloody kill me? I don’t need more rum!”

“Actually,” Milo piped up, as he sat down at the desk that stood in the corner of the room, “downing a glass of rum on the morning after is the perfect cure for a hangover.” He shrugged at Silver’s skeptical snort. “Don’t ask me how I know that, just accept the fact that I am a master at curing alcohol induced hindrances.” He opened the bag he’d been carrying and pulled out an orange, cutting the fruit into four pieces with one of the surgical knives. Leaning back in the chair, he handed them over to Silver. “Now this was supposed to be my lunch. But here, you take it. It helps against the queasiness, and it also takes away that nasty taste in your mouth.”

Silver frowned as he sank his teeth into the fruit, sucking up the juice as it spread onto his tongue. It tasted heavenly, and he loathed to admit it actually did make him feel a bit better. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he studied Milo cautiously. The tall, blond man was carefully going through the glass pots and bottles that he had laid out on the desk he sat at. He picked up a bottle, read its label and then scribbled something down on a piece of paper, before picking up the next one and doing the exact same. He radiated a certain inner calmness, which was odd, since he was surrounded by his enemies; pirates, unscrupulous men, who would not think twice about snapping his neck if they wanted to. And yet he appeared perfectly relaxed, and damn near cheerful.

When they took the trio aboard a week ago, this man was the one who had seemed to be the easiest nut to crack to Silver. But right now, he wasn’t so sure whether that was true anymore. “Just what exactly was your plan, Mr. Evans?” he asked as the man continued to quietly go about his work.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been trying to remedy your hangover,” the blonde deadpanned.

“That’s not what I meant,” Silver said shortly. He bit into another part of the orange, savoring the sweet taste of it before continuing. “You and your two friends were stowaways on that merchant ship. And that ship was on its way to New Providence Island. What were you three planning to do there?”

“I know that wasn’t what you meant,” Milo said with a smug grin, completely ignoring the rest of Silver’s questioning. “However, it is the only answer I am willing to give to you.” He picked up Silver’s prosthetic leg and held it out to him. “Looks like you dropped this, pal. Now why don’t you strap it back on and hobble your way over to Curtis in the galley? Ask him to brew you some ginger tea, he’ll understand.”

Gritting his teeth at the ‘pal’ comment, Silver let out a frustrated sigh. "Ignoring the question will not keep me from finding out just exactly what your plans are,” he said, as he gave the tall man a warning look. “The captain wishes to know, and you’d be wise to talk to me, lest the man sends someone else to find answers. And I assure you that the men on this crew are a lot less courteous than I.”

“Trust me, ask Curtis about the tea. You’ll feel much better.” Milo said with a blank expression. He turned around to rummage through a cabinet, pulling out a set of clean cloths and a few bottles, and then proceeded to put them into a leather pouch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said with a slight flourish, “I’ve been kindly requested to go and see the captain. Apparently, the man walked into someone’s fist while he was ashore.” He opened the door and was about to leave, but then turned and popped his head back in again. “Oh, and when you get back from the galley, come see me about that,” he added, pointing at the quartermaster’s bloody big toe. “It looks like it could use some attention. Seriously bro, that shit looks nasty.”

He left without another word and Silver scowled angrily at the door he’d disappeared through. That man had just gone and completely ignored him. He hadn’t responded to his questions, or his threats, nothing! In fact, now that Silver thought about it, the man had gone and used his own play against him, grinning and charming his way out of the room without actually telling him anything.

Frustrated, Silver grabbed the iron boot and shoved his stump into it, cringing as he felt the thin scab on the wound rip open at the rough treatment of it. After letting out a few heartfelt curses, he pulled a sock over his one foot, grimacing as he watched the blood from his injured toe seep into the fabric. He pulled on his boot and heaved a deep sigh when his toe started throbbing again. And as he stood up, moaning and grunting as he did, he noticed his headache was returning with a vengeance as well.

No, today was definitely not a good day for John Silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who is reading this story. And thank you for sticking with me! Again, I love reading what you think, so please do leave a comment!   
> A special thanks to Iri_naya and Oltramare who took the time to comment on the last two chapters!


	10. Chapter 10

_August 1715, on deck of the Walrus_

* * *

 

The weather out here – wherever ‘here’ was – seemed to consist of one endless summer, Evelyn thought as she once again sat herself down on one of the crates up on the quarterdeck. The sun warmed up her skin, much in the same way a cup of hot coffee can warm you up to the very core when you’re feeling a bit down. Evelyn sighed and blew a strand of hair from her face. Crap. Thinking about it made her really want some coffee right now. She bit her lip and looked around, trying to distract herself from her own thinking, and her eyes landed on the man that she’d helped out with the riggings yesterday. Dobbs was his name, she believed he’d told her.

It was almost as if he had felt her staring at him, because he turned around and looked straight at her, granting her a beaming grin. “Good morning, ma’am,” he greeted her politely, standing up straight and brushing off his hands on his shirt.

She smiled back at him, remembering the conversation she’d had with her friends only last night. Be nice to the crew, she reminded herself, try and charm their socks off and make them like you so much that they want to help you. “Good morning, Mr. Dobbs,” she responded kindly, and she watched as his eyes lit up in delight by the mere fact that she remembered his name. Huh. Perhaps charming these men wouldn’t be as hard as she’d thought.

“How are ye today, ma’am?” he asked, respectfully taking off his cap as he approached her.

“Very well, thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap and desperately tried to remember Curtis’ lessons on how women were supposed to behave in the eighteenth century. But unfortunately – as had always been the case when she was forced to pay attention to something that simply didn’t interest her – none of what he’d told her had actually stuck and now she was at a complete loss on how to act towards this man.

Luckily, the pirate himself didn’t have any reservations whatsoever. “I hear the captain is letting ye stay in one of them cabins up there,” he said, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder to point at the door that led to the gallery. “Mighty nice of him,” he scoffed, as if he didn’t quite believe his captain could actually be that kind to anyone.

Evelyn gave him a polite smile and let out a non-committal huff. “I suppose,” she said.

“It’s not to yer liking then?” he asked, clearly confused.

“Oh no, it’s not that.” she assured him hurriedly. “The cabin is great.” Except it wasn’t. “Really.” It really wasn’t. “It’s just,” Evelyn sighed dramatically and lowered her gaze to look at her hands, putting those acting lessons she took last summer into practice. She let out another deep breath and looked up at the man, who was now watching her closely. “Never mind,” she said with a small smile. “It’s perfect.”

Mr. Dobbs frowned at her and shook his head. “’Except that you’re locked up in there, right next to our mad fuck of a captain.” he folded his arms over his chest when she blinked up at him. “Am I right?”

This man was a lot smarter than he looked, she had to give him that. “Pretty much, yes.” she answered honestly, and with a slight shrug of her shoulder.

“Aye,” Dobbs said with an understanding nod. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone as he leaned in closer. “Never really liked the captain myself, to be honest. Always thought he was odd.” He scowled as he talked about his captain; it was quite clear that he more than disliked the man. “Arrogant as shit as well. Pretty sure he doesn’t even know our names. Keeps to himself most of the time. Probably thinks he’s too good for the likes of us. And ever since Charlestown, the fucker seems to ’ve gone completely off the hooks.”

Evelyn sat up straight, before leaning in closer as well. “Whenever I hear anyone talk about the captain, they always mention that place in the same breath,” she said, carefully trying to feel the man out, “what happened there?”

“Fuck if I know,” he answered. “Nobody ever tells us shit. We were stuck on the ship while he was ashore, with Miss Ashe, and that witch of his.” He shrugged. “And then Vane and his crew showed up.”

Wait, what? “ _Charles_ Vane?” she asked, trying to keep the tone of her voice innocent, and not too eager.

Dobbs nodded, and pulled up another crate, sitting down atop of it. “Aye, that crazy fucker and his crew surprised us and took over the ship as the captain lived it up with his rich friend in town.”

Surely there was more to the story than that, Evelyn mused. But right now, she wanted this man to keep talking, so she nodded understandingly at him. “That must’ve been awful,” she said in a compassionate voice. “I’ve heard stories about Captain Vane, about his vicious temper. How on earth did you survive?”

She gave him a what she hoped to be sincerely impressed look, biting her lip and widening her eyes. The man grinned, proudly puffing up his chest as he savored the attention that she was giving him, and began telling her all about what had happened aboard the ship as it had been anchored off the coast of Charlestown. Evelyn smiled and nodded at the correct moments as Dobbs relayed to her all the details of Flint’s arrest, the spectacular escape plan by the hand of Charles Vane, and then the complete and utter destruction of the town afterwards.

Dobbs clearly loved the fact that he had found someone who was actually interested in whatever he had to say, and now that he had started talking, he didn’t seem to be able to stop. And it was nearly noon when their conversation – or rather Dobb’s monologue – was suddenly interrupted by John Silver, who limped up onto the quarterdeck with an angry look on his face.

Silver frowned when he noticed the two of them sitting near the helm and quickly made his way over. “Everything alright here?” he asked.

“Aye, of course.” Dobbs answered, grinning broadly as he stood up. “We was just talking.” He gestured towards Evelyn. “I was telling the lady the heroic story of how you lost yer leg, and then became our quartermaster.”

“Is that so?” Silver said, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Evelyn.

She gave him a gracious smile in return. “Yes, and it was quite an entertaining story indeed, Mr. Silver,” she said in a kind voice. But there was a dubious glint in her eyes as she gave him a once-over. “I have to say, if you are feeling anywhere near the way you look right now,” she said as she raised a mocking eyebrow at his disheveled appearance, “then you must be feeling absolutely terrible.”

The man that stood next to her quickly turned his amused snort to an uneasy cough behind his hand, and Silver glared at him before addressing Evelyn. “Thank you, for your astute reflection, Miss Clarkson.” He gave Dobbs a stiff nod and the man promptly took the hint and removed himself from their presence. “I see you are making friends amongst the crew,” he said as he watched her stare after the crew member.

She hummed in agreement, before standing up and turning to face him. “He’s the first one to actually say more than two words to me,” she said. “Besides Mr. Bones, that is.” She frowned as she surveyed him again. “You really do look like shit, quartermaster. You should go see the ship’s surgeon.”

Silver harrumphed loudly. “I already met with your friend Mr. Evans. And he didn’t really do much to help me feel better,” he said grumpily. “He fed me rum and oranges, and then told me to go see Mr. Brown, and ask him for a cup of tea.” Crossing his arms over his chest with a face that made him look like a pouting little boy, he added: “now, does that seem like sound medical advice to you?”

“Actually, it sounds to me like Milo gave you advice for a hangover remedy.” Evelyn said, and she chuckled at the dumbfounded look on his face. “He’s completely right about Curtis’ tea. You really should try it, you’ll feel a lot better.”

“You lot,” Silver said petulantly, as he pointed a finger in her direction, “are very odd, and very suspicious indeed. And I will find out your plans soon enough.” And then he turned and angrily hobbled towards the ship’s bow, where the galley was located.

Well, that was weird, Evelyn thought, blinking stupidly. She stared at him as he angrily stumbled his way across the upper decks, and her gaze fell to Billy, who was standing near the mainmast, talking to one of the men there. He looked up when the quartermaster limped onto the main deck, frowning in irritation when the man brushed past him without a word, and she took note of his annoyed eyeroll before he went back to whatever he’d been doing before he’d been interrupted.

Evelyn leaned her hands against the banister in front of her, biting her bottom lip in thought, as she watched Billy respond to Silver. Dobbs had told her that the votes to have him elected quartermaster a few weeks ago had been nearly unanimous, because they believed that between him and the captain, Silver would actually be more susceptive to care about their interests than Flint. However, she pondered, that did not necessarily mean that the crew liked Silver. It merely meant that they would rather endure him. And after seeing Billy’s reaction to the quartermaster, she was fairly positive that he had not been one of the men to vote in favor of Mr. Silver. And that, she decided, made the first mate her new best friend on this ship.


	11. Chapter 11

_August 1715, inside the ship’s galley_  

* * *

The galley was empty – all men were up on deck and going about their everyday tasks – and it was almost eerily quiet down there, save for the steady sound of splashing waves and creaking wood. The old wooden floorboards were chipped and pitted – silent witnesses to untold history, both good and bad. Within the many dents grime had been dragged in by muddy boots and then pressed down further by the dutiful sweeps of the ship’s swabbie.

The mess tables were strung from the ceiling with thick, sturdy ropes and lazily swung along with the waves. The room served both as mess area as well as sleeping quarters, and some of the crew’s hammocks were slung above the tables. Further to the back of the area, the cook’s room was located, which carried the pleasant smell of baked potatoes and roasted pork into the galley.

Inside the cook’s room, Curtis Brown was sitting contentedly atop of an upturned bucket, softly humming to himself as he cleaned and peeled potatoes. His dark hair, which was starting to show a slight tinge of grey at the temples, was tucked away underneath a dark blue scarf, which was secured neatly at the back of his neck. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, displaying his sturdy forearms as he sat hunched forward, with his elbows on his knees. Between his feet stood a large pot of water, and once in a while his humming was interrupted by a tiny splash as he dropped another potato into it.

To any outsider, he would appear to be a harmless, middle-aged man, who was peacefully going through his daily chores. The select few who really knew him however, would’ve easily recognized the mechanical movement of his hands as he peeled and cut the vegetables, and the way his eyes were glazed over as he stared off into space. This man was not thinking harmless or peaceful thoughts; this man was _deliberating_.

He was worried about his friends, Milo and Evelyn, who were stuck on this pirate ship with him. His mind once again went over what they had agreed upon yesterday. The thought of it made him nervous, because he didn’t like the plan they had come up with, didn’t appreciate the idea of his two young friends having to ‘go full-on pirate’ as Milo had lightheartedly described it.

Both Milo and Evelyn were academics. They were analysts, people of facts and science. They were rational people, practical and to-the-point – bluntly so at times. It was in their nature to continuously keep searching for an explanation, to demand a logical, and factual outcome. It was just the way they were wired. And there was nothing wrong with that, back at Boston University, and in the twenty-first century.

But here, aboard a pirate ship, and in the eighteenth century, the men were devious. They played treacherous, high-risk games, and carried out elaborate schemes in order to gain leverage over other men, or even over their own. They were calculating and deceitful men, callous to their very bones, who would even resolve to murder if they believed it would benefit them.

So, yes, he was concerned for his friends. And he was worried for himself as well, while he was on the subject. Their initial plan had been so simple: board the Margaret, and have the ship take them directly to New Providence Island, where they would locate Zach’s ancestor and take what they needed from him. Curtis sighed, tossing another skinless potato into the large pot, before taking up another to repeat the process. They should’ve just gotten on a plane and flown straight to Nassau, to make the time jump directly from there. Had they done that, they would’ve probably already found Charles Vane by now. Hell, they would probably already be back home in the twenty-first century by now!

But no, the insatiable history geek inside of him hadn’t been able to resist his chance to experience life in the eighteenth century. He had insisted to go about it this way, deftly assuring his friends that they would be perfectly safe on that merchant ship.

Christ, how wrong he had been.

The beams above him creaked as the ship bobbed and ducked through the ocean’s waves – the wood aged and moist from its frequent endurances of salt water. Curtis eyed the ceiling suspiciously, almost expecting the beams to finally give in to their old age, and collapse down on him. He paused his work when he suddenly heard the steady sound of iron clunking against wood, and he looked up when the quartermaster stepped into the mess area that was reserved for the cook only. “Mr. Silver,” he said kindly, unintentionally using his ‘teacher voice’, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Silver scowled angrily at him and sat down at one of the mess tables. “I’d like you to brew me some ginger tea,” he snapped. He held up a finger to silence Curtis before he could respond. “And I’d like you to shut the fuck up while I sit here and drink it.”

Ginger tea, huh? There was no doubt that either Milo or Evelyn had sent the man this way then. There was a knowing look on Curtis’ face as he turned around and wordlessly placed a kettle on the galley stove to heat up the water. Then he simply returned to peeling his potatoes, once again humming his off-key tune, as the quartermaster sat sulking at his table.

Curtis let his gaze fall to the dark-haired man that sat a few feet away from him, and had to forcibly stop himself from chuckling in malicious pleasure at Silver. The man looked like absolute shit. His complexion was pale and clammy, his hair hung as a knotted mop of black tangles along his face and he was grimacing as if in serious pain.

“So,” Curtis broke the silence in a soft voice, “tough day, huh kid?”

Silver’s head shot up and he gave him an irritated stare, but Curtis simply stared back at him with an expectant look on his face. “It’s nothing,” the quartermaster mumbled finally, before averting his eyes.

Curtis nodded at Silver and then took a seat on the opposite side of the table, placing a steaming mug of strong-smelling tea on the surface. “Last time I made that, Zach and Milo had decided to go out on a night of drinking and somehow managed to end up in a holding cell across town.” He chuckled fondly at the memory. “Evelyn was the one to bail them out and when she dumped them on my doorstep, she basically ordered me to get them cleaned up as soon as humanly possible.” He shook his head as he remembered that particular early morning. “I don't think I’ve ever seen her so angry. She had been up to her neck in flower arrangements and dress fittings, and they were out partying.” He grinned at the confused look Silver gave him. “Zach was supposed to get married that day,” he explained, “and Milo was the best man.” He pointed at the steaming mug on the table. “And that right there helped them get sober in less than two hours, and made them feel fresh as a daisy at the wedding.”

Silver didn’t really understand much of the story that Curtis was telling him, but the deep baritone of his voice was sort of soothing and the tea didn’t exactly taste half-bad, and when he had finished the drink, he actually did feel a lot better. There was a deep frown on his face as Curtis’ words finally seemed to register and he stared back up at the man, only to find that he had moved back to sit on his bucket, peeling potatoes. “Hang on,” Silver said dully, “Miss Clarkson is married?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Curtis answered. “Why would you think that?”

“You just said-”

“I just told you a story about a man and his friend who got drunk on the night before his wedding, and how I helped them out by concocting that drink you just had.” He looked up from his work and gave Silver a meaningful stare. “And by the way; you’re welcome, young man.”

“Ah, right. Yes, of course.” Silver stuttered stupidly. “Thank you.”

There was an approving smile on Curtis’ face as he gave Silver a short nod and then returned to his work. The quartermaster was still sitting awkwardly at the table, but he decided to ignore him, and after a few moments, he heard the man mumble something to himself as he got up and limped his way back up the stairs. Curtis angled his head, looking at Silver’s back as he climbed the steps, and smiled to himself. Talking to that man had reminded him of his students, and the way they would try and pretend to be so wise and mature, while they were really still so young. And sometimes they still so much needed someone to comfort them, and tell them everything would be alright.

Up at the main deck, Silver stood clutching the railing, pondering over his bizarre and brief encounter with the new cook. He had just been unceremoniously dismissed from a room for the second time in twenty-four hours, by a cook no less, and the experience had strangely left him feeling like a child who had gently been chided to do better.

Silver contemplated how he had spent this day talking to each member of that curious trio they had taken on board a week ago and yet, somehow, he still had not managed to get any wiser about any of them. He let out a deep breath in frustration, physically shaking his head to rid himself from his own thoughts, before purposely setting course to the aft of the ship.

Today had been a very strange day for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think, and leave a helpful comment to encourage it along ...


	12. Chapter 12

_August 1715, inside of Flint’s cabin_

* * *

It was late; the sun had been chased away by waves of darkness, and nightfall was beckoned by the stars that glimmered under the soft moonlight. The colors of the day had died out, turning the Walrus into an ominous dark silhouette, its black shape casting ever-changing shadows across the dim waters.

Inside the ship’s great cabin, Captain James Flint settled himself on his chair, spreading his legs out upon the desk in front of him, ready to indulge himself in a bit of reading before the evening was spent. The binding of the book was worn, the spine tender from old age and frequent use, and he was startled when a tiny ribbon of fine lace fell out and onto his chest. It’d been pressed between the pages, clearly left there as a marker for where she had left off reading. He leaned his head back and placed a hand over his eyes, gently pressing the tips of his fingers against his eyelids. His jaw twitched and he breathed out slowly. And he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to her yet again.

_Miranda_

How he missed her. Christ, how he missed her. The loss of her had caused an unfathomable, physical ache, and left him with a deep, gaping hole inside of his chest. It had been weeks since he had lost her, yet the ghost of her continued to haunt him as he tried in vain to move on without her. There were short, blissful moments where he almost felt normal, or where he was at least functioning on a normal level again. But then he was suddenly reminded of her, by something so trivial as a piece of lace left inside a book, and he found himself crumbling, his thoughts clouding over, pulling him back into that familiar cold, black void. And he felt himself drifting even further away from who he had once been, when she was still next to him.

He found himself dreaming of her often, his mind conjuring up fantasies where she actively listened to him as he laid out his plans for the future, passionately arguing when she didn’t agree, and comforting him with one of her knowing smiles when she did. And his dreams would be so vivid, and she would seem so painfully real, and then he would wake up and be devastated by her absence all over again. She had been his anchor, she had been his last chain to this world, and without her, he was adrift. He was sure that she would not approve of the things he had done to get himself to where he was today. She would not agree with the direction he had taken, nor the path that he was currently on. She would demand him to do better, to _be_ better.

But without her, he was lost. He was alone, starved of her warmth, nothing more than an empty shell. Darkness was his only companion now, revenge his only purpose, anger his only weapon. He had promised her to leave his pirate persona behind for good, back in Charlestown, but instead he had left behind James McGraw. And Captain Flint was all he could be now. Eyelids fluttering shut, he allowed himself a quick smile as a comforting thought crossed his mind. Perhaps, now that he truly lost everyone that had chained him to this world, he might finally be brave enough to remove himself from this empty life, this existence that had become little more than an extended nightmare.

A loud knock on the door shook him from his dark thoughts, and he sat up, carefully placing the book on the desk before him and gently letting it fall closed. It made an exhausted sound, like a deep sigh, a desperate puff of air, almost as if it, too, had given up on life. “Enter!” he snapped at the closed door, and it swung open almost instantly to reveal his quartermaster on the other side.

John Silver limped into the room with a pained look of determination across his features. The man still looked quite unwell; perspiration glinted on his forehead, and strands of dark hair sat plastered messily against his temples. His complexion was ashen, his cheeks sunken, and his entire being seemed to radiate pure exhaustion. Flint frowned as he watched the quartermaster stumble across the room. It almost appeared as though Silver had now developed a limp on his good leg as well.

“Captain,” the man greeted him, as he let himself sink down heavily into the chair across from Flint. He leaned forward, stretching the iron foot attached to his missing limp in front of him and placing a hand on the desk. “A word?” he asked. His voice still held its typical brash flourish, but the roguish glint in his eyes had dulled considerably over the past few weeks. Perhaps he too had encountered the cold, dark void that had accompanied Flint ever since they had left Charlestown.

“You should rest more,” Flint stated, looking Silver in the eyes. He moved his feet off the desk and leaned forward as well, folding his hands atop the wooden surface in front of him as he stared at the dark-haired man that sat across from him. “You look like shit.”

“So I’ve been told. Repeatedly,” Silver responded shortly, before waving his hand dismissively, “I’ll be fine. Mr. Evans has been helping me clean the wound every day. He says it looks better.” He grimaced as he shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, “it still hurts like hell though.”

“Mr. Evans?” Flint questioned in confusion.

Silver scoffed and threw him a look. “Milo Evans,” he said. And when he was met with nothing more than a blank stare from his captain he sighed and clarified: “One of our new, ahh … guests, I suppose. The one with so much surgical knowledge that he’s been appointed Dr. Howell’s assistant.” When Flint still didn’t respond, he merely rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Flint. It was your idea to take those three aboard. The least you can do is remember their names.”

Well, Silver sure seemed to be in an exceptionally sullen mood this evening, Flint contemplated as he gazed at him. “That would be _your_ job, quartermaster,” he quipped.

The captain’s jibe was answered with a resentful grunt from Silver. “Right. Well then, you’ll be pleased to hear that the other man, Mr. Brown, has been put to work in the cook’s room. We’ve been in need of a new cook after the loss of Randall, and you and I both know the quality of the food would not improve if our previous cook stepped back in there.” He smirked slightly at his own joke, but it was met with one of Flint’s expressionless stares. “Our third guest is a bit more difficult, which is one of the things I wished to discuss with you. I believe it might be wise to rid ourselves of the company of the lovely Miss Clarkson.”

“Miss Clarkson?” again it was asked in clear confusion.

Silver let out an impatient sigh. “The female companion of that fun little trio we took on board. The one who’s been occupying the cabin right next to yours.”

“Ah yes,” Flint said as he stood to gather some cups and a bottle of rum. He filled both glasses and handed one to Silver before sitting back down again. “What of her?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and taking a large sip.

“She seems restless,” Silver answered him. He shrugged a shoulder. “As one would understandingly be when they’re being held on a ship full of pirates, and against their will.” He picked up his cup, wrinkling his nose as he sniffed at it, and then proceeded to put it back down again.

“We’ve already discussed this.” Flint said, taking another swig and then raising an eyebrow as he stared at him over the rim of his cup. “We need those two men. We need all the extra hands we can get, if we are to win this battle. And we need _her_ to keep those two in line.”

“Well yes, of course.” Silver nodded. “However, it now seems that we need to find something to keep _her_ in line as well. Just today, I found her talking and laughing with Dobbs, of all people. And she’s been winning over others amongst the crew as well.” Silver paused and stared at Flint with a sharp look on his face.

“So, the woman isn’t afraid to mingle with the crew. That only proves that she's not bothered by propriety.” Flint said, and there was a suspiciously approving glint in his eyes as he took another swig of his rum. “I fail to see that as a problem.”

“It might not be a problem just yet,” Silver responded tersely, gritting his teeth. “But I know for a fact that she already has Billy wrapped around her finger. He genuinely seems to like her, and we both know that he genuinely _doesn’t_ like you. Give it another week and she’ll have started a fucking mutiny.” He gave his captain another sharp look as he stood up from his chair and then proceeded to down his rum in one gulp, slamming his now empty cup back down on the desk as if to emphasize his point.

Flint sighed at the man’s theatrics. “Alight then,” he said indulgently, as he picked up the bottle and filled up his own glass again. “What do you suggest I do about it?”

“Get rid of her,” Silver said bluntly. And then, at the affronted look on Flint’s face, he quickly added: “Not like that! Christ, Flint! Barbaric much?” He shook his head in disbelief as he started to hobble towards the door. “Just find something to keep her distracted. I fear she could cause a lot of trouble for us if we don’t keep her away from the crew.” With that, he limped out of the door and let it slam shut behind him, leaving behind a somewhat confused, yet strangely amused Flint.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading this. And a big warm thank you to I'm_groot for the lovely comments! It is so, so much appreciated. Seriously, you have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you!


	13. Chapter 13

_September 1715, and another day on the Walrus_

* * *

The sounds of splashing waves and flapping sails were oddly soothing to Evelyn. She was sitting on the last step of the stairs that lead from the quarterdeck back down to the upper gun deck, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, bare feet popping out from underneath the hem of her dress. Her elbows rested on the step behind her, as she lounged back against the stairs with her eyes closed. She smiled contently as she tilted her head upward to relish the warmth of the sun against her cheeks, the salty taste of the ocean on her lips and the aromatic sea air in her nose.

“You can stop gawking now, Mr. Bones,” she said with a smug grin across her face, not bothering to open her eyes and look up at him. She could tell by his stunned silence that he was most definitely gaping.

The first mate, who was leaning against a banister only a few feet away from her, chuckled humorously as he continued to stare down in amazement at the flawlessly secured halyard hitch.

They had been at this little game for a while now. The sun was out, the sea was calm, and the ship was sailing smoothly along tranquil waters. And it gave her a comfortable sense of peace, to be out on deck and practice tying knots with Billy.

“I’m curious,” Billy’s voice broke the amicable silence, “how do you know so much about sailing?”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she squinted against the bright sunlight as she looked up at him. “My father,” she said simply, “that man loved the open water like nothing else. He used to take me sailing as much as he could.” She smiled and shook her head reflectively, her eyes glazing over as she stared unseeingly at the ocean. “And I hated every minute of it. I would climb up on the prow, and just sit there and sulk as he gave me these impassioned speeches about the importance of properly securing the halyard and whatnot-” She abruptly stopped talking when she remembered just who she was talking to and sat up at the watchful look in Billy’s eyes. “Yeah, he ... uhm,” she stammered, desperately thinking of a way to talk herself out this. “He was a sailor,” she finished lamely, and she averted her eyes, hoping that Billy hadn’t noticed her faltering at the description of her father’s profession.

“A sailor?”

Crap. Apparently, he had.

“Where?”

Or maybe he hadn’t.

“Trading vessel,” she lied quickly.

“Merchantman, huh?” Billy shook his head as he frowned at her. “Your father took quite a risk then, taking his daughter along with him on his ship.”

“His longest journey ever was from Boston to Florida,” she said, once again silently thanking Curtis for all of his tedious history lessons, “a much less dangerous route than the Middle Passage. And when I sailed with him, it was always only inland, along the rivers.”

“You live in Boston then?” he asked, curious.

“I’ve lived all over the place,” she answered vaguely, “didn’t I just tell you my father was a sailor? We never really stuck around at one place for too long.” She sighed wistfully as she tugged at the fabric of the skirt of her dress. At least this part wasn’t a complete lie; she and her sister had lived in various places during the years of their childhood. They’d been military brats; their father had been a captain in the US navy. And after their mother died, their home had been on whatever naval base their father had been stationed at that particular time.

“Everything alright?”

The tone of his voice sounded genuinely concerned, and she looked back up at Billy with a reassuring smile. “Yes, of course. It’s just that talking about my father always makes me remember how much I still miss him.” She sat up and grinned at him, shaking herself from her daze. “Anyway,” she said brightly, “you can run along and report to Mr. Silver that I am not some sort of noble woman or whatever you were hoping me to be, and there is no family who would pay any form of ransom for me either.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, as his cheeks and the tips of his ears started to turn pink. “That’s … I, uhm …” he started to stutter.

She took pity on him. “It’s alright, Mr. Bones.” she told him with a grin. “I really enjoyed our little chat together, even though you are only being nice to me because of your obligation to your captain.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Besides, it’s not like I told you anything that I didn’t want to share.”

“It wasn’t just out of obligation,” Billy rubbed the back of his neck, a clear gesture of awkwardness, and gave her a lopsided smile. “And my name is Billy,” he said. “Not Mr. Bones.”

“Billy,” she repeated, nodding to herself, before extending a hand towards him. “And I’m Evelyn.”

He took her hand in his, gently squeezing her fingers, and once again she marveled at this giant of a man’s kindness. She couldn’t help but respond to the friendly smile he gave her, her gaze immediately drawn to those dark blue eyes that seemed to stand out even more than his tall figure did. She noticed him redirecting his gaze to something behind her and frowned when that joyful gleam disappeared from his eyes.

“Captain,” he said tersely, his lips forming a thin line.

Evelyn felt herself unwillingly tense at that one word. Turning her head slightly, she stole a quick look over her shoulder. Captain Flint stood behind her, up at the quarterdeck, carrying a spyglass in his hand, a book tugged underneath his arm, and that everlasting irritated scowl across his face. The man’s sharp gaze immediately fell to their still joined hands, and she felt Billy starting to pull away. She squeezed his fingers and tugged lightly on his hand as she started to get up. He looked uneasy for a moment, but then helped her stand up, the tips of his ears once again turning a lovely shade of pink before he quickly let go of her hand.

“Billy.” The name was spoken with absolute authority, and it left no room for misinterpretation. And with a firm look and a stiff nod from his captain, the first mate was dismissed.

She stared ruefully after Billy before turning to face Captain Flint, and Evelyn automatically straightened her back to stop the shiver that wanted to rush down her spine at the mere sight of the threatening pirate captain. She refused to let this man intimidate her however, and silently ordered her body to fall into line.

“You weren’t in your cabin,” Flint stated flatly, making it clear to her that he’d quite obviously been looking for her there, and that he had been displeased to find her missing.

She very nearly rolled her eyes at him. Seriously. Discontentment seemed to be this man’s one and only state of mind. The look on his face instantly made her feel like she was being reprimanded, and she involuntarily jutted out her chin in challenge. “Clearly,” she responded testily, taking the few steps that led back up to the quarterdeck.

There was a twitch of anger in his cheek at her biting retort, which might’ve escaped her notice if she hadn’t been purposely paying attention to the man’s gestures and mannerisms so closely. Provoking the captain would not be helpful to her situation in any case, she decided, and she took a deep breath, willed her face to shift into a more neutral expression, and waited.

And then frowned in confusion when he grabbed the book from beneath his arm and held it out to her.

“What’s that?” Evelyn’s eyebrows nearly reached her hairline as she stared at him.

“It’s a book.”

“I can see that,” she said, eyeing the leather volume with suspicion.

“You don’t like books?”

“No,” she responded stupidly, baffled. And when he lowered his hand, she quickly added: “I mean yes. I do. I do like books.” Her eyes narrowed in doubt as she glanced at the book in his hand, and then back up to his face to meet his gaze. “But why are _you_ giving _me_ a book?”

Flint scowled at her, irritated once more. “Mr. Silver told me that you were restless, and suggested you might appreciate a distraction.” He threw a pointed look at Billy, who was keeping himself busy at the main deck. “If only to stop you from bothering my crew.”

Evelyn snorted, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Right.”

“It’s not a gift,” he told her. “But you may borrow it, if you like.”

He thrust the book towards her again and this time she took it, carefully avoiding to touch his fingers as she did. She turned the leather volume in her hand, running her fingers over the gold lettering on the cover. It was a play by Christopher Marlowe, one she was actually familiar with, and she wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she’d been handed this particular tale. _The Jew of Malta_ , the story of Barabas who, after being stripped of all his riches by Governor Ferneze, had begun to develop a disturbingly vicious streak in his quest for vengeance.

“Thank you … ”

It came out unsure, and it sounded more like a question than a statement, but Flint dipped his chin in response anyway. “You may borrow others from my cabin if you wish to read more,” he said and turned to go, leaving her staring after him, completely perplexed.

 


	14. Chapter 14

_September 1715, the Walrus_

* * *

Life aboard the Walrus had slowly started to become just a little easier for Evelyn, after she had befriended Billy Bones. The first mate mostly worked somewhere near the aft of the ship – both to distribute the crew their tasks and to be close to the quartermaster and the captain – and as soon as she stepped out on the quarterdeck, he usually made sure to climb up and join her there. He turned out to be quite a fun and intelligent conversationalist, and she really enjoyed hanging out with him.

Another plus-side to being friendly with Billy was that most men of the crew were starting to warm up to her as well. Now that they had found out about her knowledge of sailing, some of them had started to come up to her, asking her opinion on this or that, or just generally chatting to her and accepting her as an equal amongst them.

And then there was the fact that she’d been given a free reign to the captain’s personal library, by the man himself no less. It still weirded her out – the fact that Flint actually knew who she was, and that, apparently, he’d been keeping tabs on her – but she decided to ignore that and just simply enjoy the books as he’d offered. Much as she was doing right now, as she once again sat on the set of steps at the quarterdeck, absorbing those last few rays of sunshine before the sun would set completely, and make way for the evening.

She turned another page, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of the aged book. It smelled warm and sandy, like the inside of a dusty attic. The old pages were delicate, almost brittle, at the touch of her hand. Most people would have left this haggard looking tome behind without as much as a backwards glance, but she was enthralled by it. She carefully ran her fingers across the fading script, a secretive smile playing across her lips as she appreciated the beauty of the old manuscript.

Evelyn angled her head when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Flint had stepped up on the quarterdeck and was currently looking out at sea. She studied him as he leaned both his hands against the railing, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his elbows, showing off the well-defined muscles underneath the freckled skin of his forearms. As he stood there, seemingly lost in thought and for once without that eternal angry scowl on his face, he looked surprisingly more approachable, perhaps even human.

She dipped her head, blinking stupidly at the pages of her book, frowning as she tried to refocus her thoughts. A shadow fell over her, and she jumped in surprise when she noticed Flint leaning against the rails next to her.

“Isaac Newton?” he asked curiously, nodding his head towards the book in her lap.

Evelyn hummed vaguely in response. “It seemed interesting,” she said with a slight shrug, closing the book and tilting her head to look up at him. It was actually quite the understatement; when she had taken the captain up on his offer and raided his library a few days ago, she had noticed a copy of the _Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy_ casually shoved in between Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ and Miguel de Cervantes’ _Don Quixote_ , and she had very nearly squealed in delight. It was probably the most important work in the history of science, and here she was, holding one of the first copies. Needless to say; her inner geek was more than a little overexcited.

“You surprise me, Miss Clarkson,” Flint said conversationally. “Are women not usually more interested in learning the latest gossip from The Vauxhall Gardens, or what new fashion hails from Paris, rather than science?” He leaned forward against the rails with a look of sincere interest on his face. “Is that not what propriety dictates?”

Seriously, she thought, completely outraged, were all men in this century such chauvinistic assholes? “Yes, we silly women are very lucky, aren’t we? To have these rules of decorum all set for us. After all, it does so help us from exhausting ourselves and our tiny little brains from forming an actual thought or, god forbid, an opinion.” She placed her elbows on her knees and leaned her chin in her hands, as she gave him a hard stare. “My father taught me not to accept it when others tried to force their beliefs onto me. He told me it is important to have a mind of your own. It’s quite a burden, but I manage it.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, and she very nearly cringed as she realized she’d just snapped at the captain. Crap. She always did that, she always got the urge to just take her chances at moments like these, when she knew she really shouldn’t speak. She couldn’t help it, she was never able to stop herself from bearing her teeth and bite back at whoever tried to suppress her. It was like instinct; her mouth took over her consciousness, and she would simply refuse to let another second go by without her thoughts being heard. She stole a cautious glance at Flint, yet the look he gave her after she snapped at him like that appeared to be one of intrigue, rather than the usual anger, or annoyance that crossed his features.

Before he could respond to her however, Billy suddenly appeared right next to him. Really, for someone as absurdly tall as he, the first mate was incredibly stealthy. “Captain,” he addressed Flint shortly, as he glimpsed suspiciously between the two of them. “Land on the horizon,” he said. “Shall we continue to make our approach?”

And just like that, that unpleasant frown was back on the captain’s face, almost like a switch had been flicked. Flint gave a short nod. “Do it,” he said to Billy, without turning around. “And make ready the launches. I'll lead the shore party as soon as we arrive.”

His gaze was still on Evelyn, and she fidgeted at the attention, breathing out a resigned sigh. She had already noticed that they’d been nearing another shoreline, and it made her recall the conversation she had overhead between him and Silver the other night. Another raid then, she thought sadly. Another town to destroy, another magistrate to murder, another life to amount to nothing. “Is this really necessary?” she asked him, not even bothering to try and hide the fact that she knew what he was about to do; he wasn’t stupid, but neither was she.

He didn’t answer her, but he gave her a cold look, and Evelyn swallowed thickly as she remembered how he had returned from that other raid, just a few days ago. She’d been more than a little upset, seeing the blood that stained his hands and his clothes. It had been a clear and painful reminder of the captain’s ruthlessness. And she had been even more nervous to be alone in this man’s presence ever since.

“I trust you and your friends will not try anything while Billy and myself aren’t here,” he told her plainly. “Any disturbance caused by you or your companions will be answered to accordingly.” Flint didn’t bother to add anything else to that clear threat. He simply turned on his heel and moved to join Billy at the gun deck, nearly knocking over John Silver as he just stepped up on the quarterdeck.

“Everything alright here?” asked the quartermaster, watching Flint go with a puzzled look on his face.

Evelyn sighed, sitting up and folding her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. “You mean besides the fact that your captain is so clearly deranged? Then sure, everything is just grand.”

Silver chuckled at her answer, and tilted his head as he looked at her. “I should probably explain something to you about Captain Flint. The man has lost someone very dear to him not too long ago. It has put a great strain on him, and it has turned him-”

“-into a raging lunatic? Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

“I was going to say ‘bitter’.” He shrugged when she gave him an unimpressed look. “Either way, the man’s mind is fragile. Emotionally unstable at best. And one should tread carefully around him-”

“I really don’t give a shit about Flint’s state of mind,” she spat at him rudely.

He stared at her, considering her with those calculating blue eyes, and then rubbed his chin in thought. “We should talk,” he said suddenly. Evelyn rolled her eyes at him, but remained silent as he sat down next to her on the set of stairs. “A word of advice,” he said, “if you wish to make your life on this ship a little more comfortable, than you should at least try and pretend to get along with its captain.”

“Alright. Sure. I’ll get right on that,” she scoffed sarcastically, staring out at Billy and the captain as they climbed down the rope ladder towards the longboats.

“Perhaps if you dropped that cold front of yours, and instead tried to look for a common ground between the two of you, the captain would be more … accommodating towards you and your friends.”

She frowned and turned her head to study him with a skeptical look on her face. “And why would you care about me, or my friends?”

“I don’t,” Silver said, waving his hand dismissively, “but I do care a great deal about myself, and about accomplishing my goals.” He leaned back, placing his elbows on one of the steps behind him and gave her a secretive grin. “And I believe that you might be able to help me with that.” When she opened her mouth to respond, he held up a hand to silence her. “Before you decline, let me assure you that you and I would both benefit from this.”

 “Oh really?” Evelyn scoffed and cocked her head in mock interest, “and just exactly how would that work?”

Silver moved to stretch his legs out in front of him, that infuriating grin still on his face as he slouched back against the stairs. “You are an intelligent woman, Miss Clarkson. Not only are you lettered and quite clearly well-educated, you also have a sharp tongue and an absolute, insolent disregard for any form of propriety. And I’m not the only one who noticed this.” He jerked his head towards the longboats that were now moving towards the coast. “Captain Flint has clearly taken an interest in that clever mind of yours as well. The man can’t help but be drawn by it. Intelligence is a rather uncommon quality in our environment.”

“And?” she asked shortly.

“And I believe you should use this to your advantage, to get closer to the captain. I dare say you could probably even try and win his trust-”

Evelyn actually scowled at the thought of getting closer to Flint. That man gave her the shivers. And not in a pleasant way. She crossed her arms and leaned back, giving Silver a challenging look. “That man is about as warm and accommodating as freaking death himself. I doubt he would ever let anyone get close to him, let alone little old me.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Silver said. “However, I believe that you remind him of something, of _someone_ , he used to have complete faith in. Someone who meant a great deal to him. Someone who has always kept him sane, and grounded.”

“Ah yes,” she said, nodding her head in understanding, “Mrs. Barlow.”

He gawked at her for a moment. “How do you-”

“Ship’s got thin walls,” Evelyn simply stated, smirking at the fact that she had just managed to ruffle the quartermaster’s feathers for a change. “Anyway,” she continued, “for argument’s sake, let’s assume I would be able to get in the captain’s good graces. What then?”

Silver sat up straight, glad to gain back control over the conversation. “If it could distract him from his torment, it would perhaps make him a bit more lenient. And I believe that a calm, collected and most of all _stable_ captain is much easier to deal with for all of us on this ship.”

“He’ll be easier for you to manipulate, you mean,” she scoffed. “It’s obvious that you don’t trust your captain. And I can’t honestly say that I blame you for it; that man’s a loose cannon.” She stood up, suddenly feeling uncomfortable sitting next to him, and moved to lean against the banister. “You’re afraid he’s going to snap. And when he does, you’re going to lose whatever it is that you’re after.” She pointed a finger towards him. “That makes it very clear to me what _you_ would gain out of this. But what about me, and my friends?”  And she pointed back towards herself. “What’s in it for us?”

He tilted his head as he studied the tiny woman, once again thrown off guard by her astute insight. He had noticed her gaze on him before, of course. But it appeared that she hadn’t just been watching him, she had been observing him, much as he had done her. And she was quite fucking observant! Silver swallowed hard, and jerked his chin at her. “I am sure you three had a good reason for hiding yourselves on that merchant ship.”

Evelyn frowned. Where was he going with this? She nodded carefully when he gave her a meaningful stare.

“I know for a fact that the ship was sailing for New Providence Island,” Silver continued. “So I can only assume that this was your required destination as well.”

Licking her lips nervously, Evelyn decided to remain silent, simply giving him another short nod when he waited for her response.

“We are to set sail for Nassau in a few days,” Silver said. “If you keep your end of the bargain, and manage to keep the captain calm and collected until then, then I will make sure that you and your friends are let go once we arrive there.”

She blinked. “Seriously,” she muttered, dumbfounded. “You would let us go, just like that, all three of us?”

“You have my word,” he answered her with a beaming smile across his lips and a confident twinkle in his eyes. “So, what do you say, Miss Clarkson?” he asked her eagerly as he stood up as well, moving towards her and reaching out his hand to her. “Shall we work together?”

She stared at his hand for a moment, suddenly suspicious of the quartermaster once more. But then again, she couldn’t really think of any reason not to say yes, if only to keep the man of her back for a while. “Alright then,” she said, reluctantly placing her hand in his. Their eyes met as they shook hands and, she hadn’t really paid much attention to them before, but his eyes were unbelievably blue – like, full-on every fucking cliché in the book kind of blue: cornflower blue, baby blue, perfect, cloudless sky blue. Really, someone should have named a crayon after the color of this man’s eyes.

“Excellent,” Silver said, once again beaming brightly at her, and he gently clasped her fingers before letting go of her hand.

Evelyn gave him a slight nod in response, suddenly too exhausted to speak. She heaved out a deep sigh when he turned and started making his way to the upper gun deck. Clearly, it hadn’t been a coincidence that he had come to find her shortly after Flint had made his threat against her and her friends. Those two were quite obviously playing one fucked up version of good cop, bad cop, much like the conniving and manipulative bastards that they were. And now, not only did she have to try and keep up, or rather stay ahead of those twisted games of theirs, she also had to play one for herself, and hope that it would benefit her and her friends just long enough to get them out of there alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. So. Two chapters. Because one was a bit short. So there.


	15. Chapter 15

_September 1715, somewhere belowdecks_

* * *

“He will let us go.”

“Yes.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“Those were the exact words he used?”

“Yes.”

“Like, he actually _promised_ you that he would?”

The look on Milo’s face was one of pure cynicism, and he raised a challenging eyebrow when he turned his gaze towards Evelyn. It was very early in the morning, and most of the crew were still fast asleep, save for the few men that were keeping guard up on the upper deck, and Milo and Evelyn had snuck out onto the orlop, to discuss strategies. They sat huddled together on the floor in the small space between two guns, hidden from view behind the heavy weaponry and a few barrels, and Evelyn had just told Milo all about her meeting with Silver on the day before.

Evelyn cocked her head to the side as she pondered Milo’s question. “Well, he gave me his word,” she said pensively, “which I realize probably doesn’t mean much, but at least it’s something, right?” She pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them as she stared at her friend.

He scoffed, and shook his head. “And all you have to do, is play nice with the captain?”

“Uhm, yes.” She nodded and then crinkled her nose as his words registered. “Though you make it sound really bad when you say it like that.”

“Pretty much the whole idea of getting close to the captain sounds really bad to me,” Milo huffed as he crossed his arms. “That guy is a raging lunatic. And you,” he pointed at Evelyn, “are just as insane for even considering to take that deal! The man threatened you for crying out loud, and you just went right ahead and promised Silver to try and make friends with him!”

“Oh wow,” she said, taken aback at his passionate outburst, “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about Captain Flint.” She granted him a lopsided smile, reaching out and patting his knee reassuringly. “Calm down, Milo. It probably won’t even work anyway. But I had to promise Silver something to get him off my back for a while.”

“Look, the captain is a dangerous man. I patched him up after that raid a few nights ago.” Milo didn’t return her smile when he looked at her this time, and Evelyn swallowed uncomfortably as she stared back at him. “He killed people while he was ashore, Evie,” Milo continued seriously and his voice had taken on a harsher tone. “Men, and women. He looked them straight in the eye and shot them through the head. I heard one of the men talk about it.” He shook his head in frustration, before he continued. “So forgive me if I’m not too happy about the fact that you promised to make friends with a _fucking_ murderer!”

Evelyn blinked, momentarily shocked into silence by Milo’s grim words. She had known, of course. She’d seen the blood that had stained Captain Flint’s clothes that night. And she’d heard the stories, from Billy, from Dobbs, even from Silver. So she had known that the captain was dangerous, and ruthless, and a killer. But hearing it from Milo made it seem so much more hideous, and all the more real.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke up after a while, “I didn’t mean to be so harsh.” He reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers soothingly. “It’s just … I promised Zach that I would look after you. You’re like our little sister, and we all just want to protect you. And now that unreliable shit of a Silver is throwing you to the wolves, and I’m freaking out because all I can do is stand by and watch it happen since it might actually be our only way out of this whole mess.”

She gave him an affectionate smile when she looked at him. Milo’s eyes had the warm color of dark chocolate, and they carried a permanently joyful glint, much like the corner of his lips, which always seemed to be fighting a smile. And there was so much warmth in his smile; it revealed his gentle nature, it was the smile of someone who laughed easily, and as much as he could. Evelyn interlaced her fingers with his, giving them a gentle tug. “I know. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to act so casual about all of this.” She took a deep breath and looked away from him. “I didn’t really think about any consequences when Silver offered me that deal. All I focused on was that he said he’d let us go. And I just really want to get out of here, so we can get back home, to Ems, and Zach, and Jamie. And I guess I-”

“Ship on the horizon! Ship on the horizon!”

Both their heads shot up at the sound of those shouts. They locked eyes for a moment, and with a sharp nod towards each other, proceeded to rush up the stairs, parting ways when they reached the upper deck; Milo towards the gun deck, and Evelyn towards the quarterdeck.

De Groot was already up there, narrowing his eyes as he stared through the spyglass at the little dot that appeared in the distance. Billy and Silver joined him only moments after, and the men discussed the ship that lay completely still in the distance. They recognized the ship’s banner as Hallendale’s, another pirate captain, and one they all apparently knew, because Dobbs suggested to go and take a closer look, to see if they were in distress.

Evelyn remained silent as she stood a few feet away from the men at the upper gun deck, quietly listening in on their conversation. After a moment, Silver ordered to change course to close in on the other ship. And immediately the men rushed towards their stations, obediently following orders and quickly steering the Walrus to her new course.

“What?” Evelyn heard Silver whisper shortly at Flint, as they both stepped away from the rest of them, moving further towards the ship’s stern, nearly out of sight but most of all out of ear’s reach. They didn’t even notice her as they walked by her on the quarterdeck. Deftly changing her position near the rails so she could see better, she narrowed her eyes and watched them speak to each other. It didn’t seem to be a pleasant discussion, as far as she could tell from the annoyed scowl on Silver’s face and the arrogant and superior look on Flint’s. Carefully, she looked around to see if anyone else noticed her, before she slowly followed the two men, silently moving across the quarterdeck and sitting herself down on one of the thick ropes that lay coiled up on deck as she tried to listen in on their conversation.

“You think I should've tried to talk them out of this,” Silver said, and Flint must’ve given him an affirmative answer of sorts, because he went on: “You rally the men to fight behind the idea that these are days in which all of Nassau must stand together. Either that means something, or it doesn't.” The quartermaster sounded cranky, almost like a petulant child, trying to challenge its mother. “And how the hell would I argue the latter, just so we could avoid a delay?”

The tone of Flint’s voice was harsh when he answered him. “These days any man who can sew a black flag and get ten fools to follow him can take a prize. They can take it because of the fear that I and men like me have instilled in their prey. But they can't do what I can do, they're not built for it. And sooner or later, they'll be exposed.” Evelyn scoffed. Seriously. That man was a living and breathing example of a narcissistic bastard if she ever saw one. “Any fool who followed Hallendale deserves whatever end they got in his company,” Flint continued mercilessly. “You were right; this war is getting more dangerous. The strong among us must stand together and face it. But the fools and the pretenders, they were never truly among us to begin with.” The captain turned and leaned in closer to Silver. “As their quartermaster, it's your decision. But that's how I might've argued it to my men to avoid unnecessary delay.”

Tilting her head sideways, Evelyn couldn’t help but stare at the captain as he gave Silver a superior – almost smug – grin, and she shuddered involuntarily. Even when he smiled, that man managed to look intimidating. She frowned as she gazed back towards the men on deck and she started to process what she’d just heard. There was no doubt in her mind that Flint counted his very own crew amongst those fools he’d mentioned earlier.

Turning her gaze back towards the ocean, Evelyn noticed that their ship was fast approaching that of Hallendale, and an uneasy feeling came over her as she watched the motionless vessel rapidly looming into view. Things moved fast when they finally reached the other ship, and before anyone could do or say anything, Captain Flint was already barging across the gangplank that had been placed between the two ships. Evelyn followed the others to the upper gun deck and moved to stand next to Silver at the banister, both of them quietly watching Flint and Billy as they proceeded their way onto the empty, ghostlike ship.

She started when Milo suddenly appeared next to her, and he gave a lazy grin at her jumpiness. “Where is Curtis?” she asked him and he simply shrugged in response, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the bow. Evelyn looked over her shoulder, towards where he had pointed, and spotted Curtis who stood – perfectly poised as ever – at the forecastle, both hands shoved into his pockets as he calmly took in all the commotion that took place on deck.

After a small wave to get his attention, she jerked her head in a silent plea for him to come join her and Milo. He gave a short nod and began to descend the stairs to the main deck almost lazily. Evelyn rolled her eyes as she watched him stroll across the deck. That man’s idea of hurrying was merely to hunch forward a little as he sauntered about, though his pace never actually sped up. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him rushed, it was like he was born with this natural, inner calm, and there was no way to rattle him.

“You know,” Curtis said reflectively, when he finally reached them, “something about all this doesn’t feel right.” He nodded his head towards the eerily quiet deck of Hallendale’s ship. “Deck’s completely empty, no visible damage, all longboats gone…” He narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard, staring at the vessel with a pensive look on his face. “It all looks terribly suspicious to me.”

Silver, who had been blatantly listening to the three of them, turned his head, narrowing his eyes as he considered Curtis. “What do you mean, Mr. Brown? Do you believe we might have been lured here by someone?”

“That’s exactly what he’s saying,” Milo said, rudely butting into the conversation. “And you know what, I was thinking the exact same thing.” At Silver’s confused look, he turned and pointed towards the beach behind them. “We are laying in a conveniently vulnerable position here, with the shore in our back, and that storm coming up in the south.”

Evelyn, who had purposely stayed quiet until that moment, nodded in agreement. “He has a point. There are two exits blocked already; towards the west and to the south. Another way out of here would be to go north, but we don’t exactly have the wind in our favor there.” She shrugged and crossed her arms as she threw Silver a meaningful look. “We’re basically just sitting ducks for anyone coming in from the east right now.”

“Sitting ducks?” Silver repeated in confusion.

“Easy targets,” Curtis clarified.

“ _Extremely_ easy targets,” Milo agreed. “Like, no challenge whatsoever. We might as well just put a bullseye on our ass if we want to make it more obvious.”

Looking very worried all of a sudden, Silver limped his way to the other side of the deck. “Someone hand me a glass,” he bit out towards De Groot.

Milo stared after him, cocking his head sideways as if considering something. “You know what this reminds me of?” he asked to no one in particular. “This totally has a Battle of Endor feel to it.” He sounded almost excited about it, and Evelyn snorted, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in amusement at the reference, as Curtis just gave him a blank stare.

“Seriously?” Milo said, clearly surprised. “Return of the Jedi? Admiral Ackbar?” He stood up straight and gave his best impression: “ _It’s a trap!_ ” and then frowned when Curtis still didn’t respond. “Really? Nothing?”

“If this is another one of those Star Trek references that I just don’t get, you might as well give up,” the older man said, completely unimpressed. “You are such a nerd, Milo.”

“It’s Star _Wars_ and, dude, what rock have you been living under? That scene is classic!” And just as Milo was about to get into one of his many monologues about his beloved fantasy space franchise, there was a shout from Silver:

“Sails!”

“Headed?” asked De Groot tentatively.

“This way! East-southeast!” There was a hint of panic to his voice as the quartermaster answered.

They all turned around as Flint and the rest of the men suddenly came scrambling across the gangplank and back onto the Walrus. “Get us underway!” the captain ordered as he rushed to Silver’s side at the railings. He took the spyglass that was handed to him and stared through it to study the approaching ship. “British colors. Not Navy.” He lowered the glass, his gaze still locked on the horizon. “She's a hunter,” he said, slowly realizing what they’d been lured into. “Carrying 50 guns, maybe more. And it's already a mile inside the horizon.” He turned around to look back at the abandoned vessel. “Must've been trailing us with her sail reduced until we took the bait,” he bit out angrily. “Drew us into a position where he's got the weather gauge. Landmass to the west, storm to the south, and no point of sail on which we can outrun her.”

“That’s _exactly_ what we just-” Milo started, and Evelyn quickly elbowed him in the side.

“Now is really not the time for ‘ _I told you so’s_ ’, Milo.”

“Someone get me a chart!” the captain shouted. “Full and by on the starboard tack as close as you can,” he said to De Groot, when the man handed him a large yellowish piece of paper.

Silver seemed to grow more and more anxious as the ship continued to close in on them and Billy calmly explained to him how they were fundamentally screwed, since the Walrus would not be able to put up much of a fight because of their lack of supplies. Evelyn frowned and stared at the one-legged man in confusion. As quartermaster, he sure didn’t seem to have a lot of knowledge about this ship, or how to defend it, or even how to sail it, she pondered with growing wonder. Why the hell had Flint even accepted this man aboard? Surely, he was more of a nuisance than an asset to the crew.

“Crew of the Walrus!”

Evelyn whipped her head around at the booming voice that suddenly echoed across the water. Almost instantly, a complete and utter silence fell over the Walrus crew. Each and every man on deck stopped talking, and stood stock-still as they listened to whomever it was that was speaking to them.

“In my capacity as duly appointed servant of His Majesty King George the First, I address you directly!”

As Evelyn moved to stand next to Billy at the rails, she felt him tense up. “Hornigold,” he muttered in confusion, throwing Silver a look of astonishment.

“Time is short, so I will be plain and offer you the same terms as accepted by the late Captain Hallendale's men,” the man – Hornigold, apparently – continued his monologue. “Surrender, and I am authorized to offer you full, unqualified pardons. Your ship will be commandeered and you will be given a choice of either entering into my service or being set free at the nearest convenient port, your names cleared and your accounts squared. Refuse and I shall grant no quarter.”

Everyone on deck remained quiet, their gazes mutely following Captain Flint’s movements as he turned around and started descending the stairs from the quarterdeck. He stepped onto the gun deck and looked around, locking eyes with a few of the men as he did. “There'll be no battle today,” he stated resolutely. “Our disadvantage is too great.” And Evelyn breathed a little easier at the statement, until she looked up at Flint’s face; there was no sign of defeat or surrender there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much Oltramare, Vick82 and felcitysmoak for your lovely comments. I honestly didn't expect there to be many readers for a Black Sails fic, since the show was finished a while ago. But the fandom is clearly still very much alive!


	16. Chapter 16

_September 1715, Flint vs. Hornigold_

* * *

Captain Flint was without a doubt one of the most effective manipulators she had ever seen, Evelyn thought bitterly and with growing dread, as she watched the man deliver a passionate speech to the crew. It astonished her how this monologue, full of empty promises, and so very obviously aimed to take advantage of the men’s false sense of pride, actually seemed to work and win them over.

“They say they will pardon us all, but I say to offer to pardon something one fears is the act of a coward,” Flint said proudly. “To offer them in volume suggests that their fear of us is becoming unmanageable, that we have shown them what we are capable of and it terrifies them.” He looked up at the men that had gathered around, and Evelyn had to admit the man was quite charismatic, and that he made it sound pretty convincing.

She hated almost everything about him; he was a narcissist and a killer. And yet he was also the most convincing, most alluring man she had ever met. He was clever, he had a quick mind and he radiated an effortless charisma. When he spoke, he completely owned his audience, held everyone's rapt attention. He was so good at it, and he sounded so reasonable, she couldn’t help but admire him for it. But it also made her insides twist in unease, because of that underlying, steely determination that continued to shimmer underneath the surface.

“Do any of you want to surrender to men who fear you? Lay down arms in a battle that we are winning?” Flint continued, and several of the men were shaking their heads as his words sank down on them. He shook his head in agreement. “Neither do I. Fuck Benjamin Hornigold, his king, and their pardons. This war isn't nearly over.”

Evelyn bit her lip as her gaze travelled across their willing faces. This man was coaxing them into taking an impossible path, using big, pretentious words and making false declarations, and they were actually nodding and grinning eagerly, hanging on his every word. She sighed, because once they realized the critical, monstrous error of their decision, it would be too late, and all the promises he had just made them would die on the wind. Any honest man would feel bad, but Captain Flint quite obviously did not care. Not one single person was indispensable to him; people were just pawns, simply fulfilling a purpose, a means to a selfish end.

“We're not fighting, and we're not surrendering. So what are we doing?” Silver asked skeptically.

“We’re going that way,” Flint answered shortly, jerking his head towards the south, where that vicious storm was brooding.

De Groot’s eyes grew big from disbelief. “That's a ship killer,” he muttered.

“Then he'd be mad to follow us into it, wouldn't he?” was the captain’s only reply. “Billy, soon as he makes his break to fire, we run.”

“Or,” Curtis piped up suddenly, remaining remarkably calm when every single man on deck turned their incredulous gaze towards him. “Or we could try and fight back after all.” He gave them all a self-assured grin and held up his hands in defense at the furious looks he was given by both the captain and the quartermaster. “Listen, all we need to do, is make sure to cause enough damage to his ship so he won’t be able to follow us, correct?”

“And how would you propose we do that, with barely a broadside worth of shot on hand?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest and let out an incredulous huff.

“Hey, hear the man out, alright?” said Milo, “he actually knows what he’s talking about.” He turned his head towards Curtis with a doubtful look on his face. “You do know what you’re talking about, right Curtis?” he whispered urgently.

“Yes, of course,” was the man’s dignified response. He picked up a round-shot and weighed it in his hand. “All we need to do is turn this into a canister shot.” He looked over towards Evelyn. “And I think Evelyn can helps us with that.”

A furious Flint narrowed his eyes, and a nerve started to twitch in his cheek as he turned his gaze from Curtis to Evelyn. The woman in question remained utterly quiet. She did not seem entirely comfortable with the direction this conversation had taken. Her gaze locked with Curtis’ when the man mentioned her name, and she shook her head sharply at him, a look of warning in her eyes. “You sure about this?” she asked him, caution lacing the tone of her voice, “because this is definitely one of those moments that’ll have consequences.”

“Can you do it?” Silver interrupted nervously, “whatever he is talking about, do you know how to do it?”

“Of course I can do it.” she snapped irritably, not taking her eyes off her friend. “The question is whether I should.” Her dark-haired friend nodded evenly at her, and she let out a deep breath and held out her hand to him. “Shit. Alright. Give me that thing.” She took the cannonball in her hand and turned it around, blowing the dust out of the seam. “I need a knife. And the rest of the round-shots, and whatever gunpowder and musket balls you have left. Nails could work as well, as long as they’re made of metal.”

It suddenly went very quiet on deck. Nobody made any move to do anything. “Or you could all just keep staring at me,” she said as she looked up at Flint meaningfully, “and wait for Hornigold to get close enough and start blowing holes in this ship.”

Sternly holding her gaze, the captain slowly pulled out his dagger and handed it over to her, hilt first. Behind him, Silver yelled out the order to gather what shot and powder was left and bring it up to them. Evelyn knelt down, and cautiously sat down the round-shot atop of the large wooden banister of the gun deck. She picked up the dagger and used it to pry open the seam of the iron ball. Then, she gingerly cracked open the round-shot just far enough, carefully making sure not to take the two halves apart completely. She peered inside and nodded to herself. The cannonball had quite thick shells, but there was still enough room inside to fill it.

“Care to explain what she’s doing?” Billy asked Curtis, as they all watched this tiny woman work with calculated precision, prying open a cannon shot with the captain’s dagger.

“The bullets go into the round-shots, filling up the rest of it with the powder,” Curtis clarified, “it’ll turn them into a sort of canister shot.” He looked up at Flint, who was listening closely, his eyes still narrowed in skepticism. “Mind you, their range will be much shorter, and they are not exactly reliable shots, but the damage will be considerably larger than regular round-shots."

“And how does that help us?” the captain asked through gritted teeth, as he threw a quick look over his shoulder, at Hornigold’s ship that was closing in on them, its gun ports already opening.

“It’s not just about causing damage to the other ship. These things will create a lot of smoke and chaos,” Evelyn answered, without looking up from her work, “which will hopefully be enough of a distraction for you to turn this ship around, come up behind on Hornigold’s ass, and take out his rudder.”

One of the men, a short man named Muldoon, knelt down next to Evelyn, handing her a handful of bullets which she efficiently proceeded to place inside of the iron ball, after which she filled up the rest of the shell with powder. Then she carefully shifted the two halves back together, closing the cannonball up again, save for the small opening she’d made with the dagger. She picked up the next round-shot and held it out to the man next to her, who had been watching her work with complete awe. “You think you can repeat that?” she asked him. He dipped his chin in a short nod and pulled out his own dagger, grabbing one of the iron balls. “Good,” she nodded as he copied her actions, “we should make as many as we can with the supplies we have. These things are extremely unreliable, so you guys need to be very careful when loading the guns.” She jerked her head towards Curtis. “He can show you how.”

At her words, the gun deck quickly turned into a well-organized chaos. Two more men started to help out Evelyn, carefully turning the already deadly cannonballs into even more destructive shots, as Curtis joined Muldoon to help out on the gun deck and show them how to load the guns properly, in such a way that the newly fashioned shots wouldn’t explode while still inside the barrel. The rest of the crew ran from left to right and up and down between decks to either gather more shots and powder, or to take the newly fashioned grenades and load the guns. Within minutes, the guns were charged and the crew stood ready, awaiting their captain’s orders.

Captain Flint stared at Evelyn in silent wonder as she stood up, and dusted off her hands on the skirt of her dress. She was such a petite and fragile looking woman, but she carried a sort of natural dignity, and his men had responded to it almost instinctively, and without as much of a struggle. He narrowed his eyes as he took note of her two companions, once again pondering the odd dynamic of that peculiar trio. Milo stood next to her, and the two spoke to each other briefly, before the tall man nodded at her and disappeared down below, probably towards the infirmary. The other man, Curtis, was walking after Muldoon towards the lower gun deck, leaving her behind on the upper gun deck with Silver. She looked up suddenly, as if she had felt him watching her, and he jerked his head in silent command for her to join him up on the quarterdeck. He watched her extend an arm to Silver, offering the man something to lean on as they made their way along the deck, and Flint frowned again. When had those two become friendly?

As both Silver and Evelyn stepped up on the quarterdeck and took their place next to him, Flint threw them a grim look. “This better work,” he bit out tersely.

“Only one way to find out,” Evelyn responded with a slight shrug. “I did my part. Now it’s up to you. Fire when you think you can make the most damage and then turn this ship about as fast as she possibly can.”

He gave a sharp nod and turned towards his crew. “Open the gun ports! Gun crews at the ready!” He looked over his shoulder, towards Billy, who stood at the helm with De Groot. “All hands to quarters. Stand ready to come about.”

Evelyn breathed in deeply, hands gripping the rails tightly. This was really happening. She was going to be smack in the middle of yet another battle at sea. She closed her eyes and shook her head at the inexplicably strange turns her life had taken in the past few weeks. “Well, here goes nothing,” she said softly to herself, opening her eyes and staring straight ahead, “doomsday is near; die all, die merrily.”

Flint frowned down at her, surprised. One moment, she was tinkering with a shot, turning the deadly iron ball even more lethal with cold and accurate persistence. Next, she was standing next to him, and quoted Shakespeare, portraying a far more soft and sentimental side to her.

“You best get away from there and take cover,” he heard Silver say to her, in a surprisingly gentle warning, “things are about to become very violent, very quickly.” Flint clenched his jaw. If they were to survive today, then he really ought to talk to Silver about whatever was going on between him and that woman. But first, he needed to win an impossible battle.

The deafening boom of guns suddenly exploded through the relative silence that had fallen upon them, the noise of it reverberating in their ears and ringing out far across the ship’s upper decks. The Walrus took hits all along her starboard side, the wood cracking and splintering loudly, and a trail of smoke roared out of a gaping hole in the hull.

“Fire!’ Flint’s voice roared across deck and complete chaos erupted after that one simple word. More guns thundered, from inside the Walrus this time, and the destruction the new canon fire brought to their enemy was simply devastating. Several huge bites were taken out of the side of the vessel, smoke and fire rushing out, and bits and pieces of wood of all sizes showering down in a deadly rainfall amongst it. There were screams – sounds that didn’t even appear human anymore – and more heavy explosions as the fire reached the gunpowder that was stored belowdecks.

And all Evelyn could do was stare, wide-eyed in pure horror, at the damage that she was responsible for, by creating that new ammunition. The new shots had clearly only one purpose: complete and utter annihilation. Every aspect of them had been designed for it, from their heavy iron exterior to the deadly gunpowder inside. And they had done their work perfectly; thick flames ate away the wood, producing tendrils of black smoke that curled through the thin air, and billowed out in dense clouds across the water.

She heard Flint shout out more orders, and suddenly the Walrus was turning sharply and she had to hold onto the railings to keep herself upright. Heavy residual fumes hung in the air, drifting like ghosts in the current. It obscured their ship from Hornigold’s view while it completed its turn and started to come up behind their opponent.

“Man the bow chaser! Gunners at the ready! Fire at will!”

Once again, metal projectiles cut through the enemy’s ship, oblivious to their purpose, ruthlessly ripping into the wood. Clouds of dark soot were still erupting from the belly of Hornigold’s vessel. The rudder assembly now lay completely shattered, and the ship floated about aimlessly – uselessly – against the unforgiving waves as the smoke hung around it in a haze that partially clouded the now blood-red sun.

Flint gave out more orders, and the Walrus turned back around and towards her initial course. The thick fog that hung around them was starting to clear up, and the crew began roaring and cheering happily in their victory. Behind them, Hornigold’s once proud and majestic vessel lay shrouded in the mist, now resembling nothing more than a black, rotting skeleton.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you still reading this: I'm so sorry for the long wait! Work, and just life in general are keeping me really busy at the moment.  
> Thank you for sticking with me. Once again, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


	17. Chapter 17

_September 1715, the battle’s aftermath_

* * *

Evelyn stood on the quarterdeck, blearily taking in the details of the fight’s aftermath as she vaguely registered Flint giving out more orders to the crew. Her ears were ringing, and she swallowed thickly, feeling emotionally depleted. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the blankness that enveloped her mind. With her shaking hands still weakly holding onto the rail, she stared out over the decks.

Her gaze immediately landed on Billy, since he stood a clear head higher than any of the other men. It didn’t make him appear lanky though, there was volume to him, well defined muscles that moved beneath that simple garb he was wearing. She watched him kneel down next to Muldoon, who laid splayed out on deck. The short man pressed a hand to his shoulder, grimacing as he did and then raising a panicked stare to the first mate when his fingers came away crimson. And only then did the ringing in Evelyn’s ears finally cease, and the strange quiet hum of the battle’s aftermath began to register. The thunder of the guns and explosions had died away, and the shouting of the fight was hushed. Silence now lay almost heavily on the upper decks. Specs of dust swirled around in the late afternoon sunlight, the smell of gunshots still lingered in the air, and the men’s faces were smeared with black soot.

She stared as Billy bend down to hoist Muldoon over his shoulder, before he stood up and purposely strode across the deck towards the gangway that led to the ship’s infirmary. He walked with calm precision, but he still moved faster than any of the other crew members, each stride of his long legs carrying him further. Evelyn blinked, shook herself from her daze, and then finally let go of the railings, quickly moving to follow the first mate towards the infirmary; Milo would need her help.

The minute she stepped into the sickbay, she was met with a panicking Milo, who was pacing around the room nervously, pulling at his hair and talking to himself. His eyes flicked to hers the moment she walked into the room. “What am I supposed to do?” he yelled at Evelyn, his voice laced with desperation. “Look at him!” He pointed towards Muldoon, who was now laying on the small cot. “He’s been shot! There’s an actual fucking bullet inside his arm! How the fuck am I supposed to do anything about that?”

His eyes were wide, nearly as wide as they could be without actually falling out of their sockets, and Evelyn reached out to grab his arm, to stop him from carrying on so frantically. “Milo, calm down. That man is in pain, and he needs you to help him.” She pinched his arm sharply. “Snap out of it!”

Milo pulled the fabric of his sleeve from her fingers and moved away from her, pacing the room again, only faster this time. “Jesus Christ, I’ve tried to tell you this before: I’m a medical researcher, not an actual fucking surgeon!” he exclaimed.

“And I’m not an actual fucking weapon expert, and yet I was creating bombs out of nothing, because Curtis didn’t give me damn choice!” she snapped back, turning around to grab a pair of tongs from a table and thrusting them into Milo’s hand. “We’re all doing things we don’t want to on this ship. Now stop whining about it and do something to help this guy!”

Her outburst seemed to finally snap Milo out of his panicked daze, and he straightened up, nodding to himself. “Right. Okay. You’re right. Let’s do this.” He stooped down next to Muldoon and held out a hand towards Evelyn. “Pass me that bottle over there.”

She quickly uncorked the bottle he had pointed to and handed it over to him. She watched as he doused both his hands, as well as the instrument with the liquid, and then frowned as he brought the bottle to his mouth and took a large swig. “Milo, what the f-”

He shoved the bottle back into her hands without even turning to look at her. “Liquid courage. Have some, if you want,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Evelyn shrugged and proceeded to take a sip as well, crinkling her nose as the liquid burned at her throat. Rum. Ugh. She shuddered and coughed at the sharp sting of the alcohol, before kneeling down next to Milo and their patient.

Blood soaked into the man’s shirt, rapidly spreading outward. Milo stripped the fabric away to show the dark crimson hole in his tanned skin. Within seconds, Evelyn had wedged a piece of thick fabric into Muldoon’s mouth, as Milo got to work with the long forceps. Behind them, the door swung open and Dr. Howell walked in, with Billy close behind him, carrying in another man, who was bleeding from a gaping head wound. Evelyn shared a short and understanding look with Milo and they both cringed at the man’s heartfelt screams of pain. Today was going to be a long day.

Hours later, Evelyn sat slumped down at the window seat, by far her favorite spot inside the dark, gloomy cabin that had been assigned to her. She was dead tired – completely emotionally drained, in fact – and the serene quiet of the room was nice and soothing after all the loud violence of today. The calm silence comforted her like a warm blanket, it smoothed her soul, and took away the jagged edges. Just as she had expected back in the infirmary, today had turned out to be one hell of a rough day.

The sound of footsteps and the sudden squeak of her cabin door had her heartbeat racing again as fast as a gunshot. Her head whipped around and within a second her eyes flicked from blearily gazing out of the window to sharply focusing at the rough looking man that stood in the doorway.

John Silver merely stared back at her from where he stood and, for a moment, neither of them moved a muscle. Then he limped into the room, using his iron boot to close the door behind him. In his hands he carried a bottle and two cups, which he placed at the table that stood in the middle of the cabin, before sitting down and tiredly raking his fingers through his messy and tangled shoulder length hair. He looked at her, then pointed to the two cups. “I assumed you might appreciate a drink, after today,” he said, as he uncorked the bottle and proceeded to fill the two cups. He slid one across the smooth surface of the table, towards Evelyn’s general direction, and then picked up the other, raising it as a sort of toast to her, before downing it in a single, big gulp. “I believe a thank you is in order.” He set down his cup on the table. “Not only did you manage to change Flint’s mind from sailing into that tempest,” he said as he poured himself another drink, “I also hear that Dr. Howell was quite appreciative of your assistance in the infirmary today.”

Evelyn blinked at him for moment, and then hoisted herself off her spot at the window. Her movements were stiff and slow, almost zombie-like, as she walked through the cabin on dead feet. She sat down, tired-eyed, slumping over the table as she reached for the drink he’d just poured her. “Let me ask you something’,” she said tiredly after a while, taking a sip of the burning liquor, and staring at the man across the table, “now that England has taken over Nassau, are we still headed there? Or are we sailing somewhere else now?”

“Taken over …” Silver stuttered as he considered her. “Why would you assume such a thing?”

She heaved a tired breath, and took another drink from her cup, staring down at its contents as she set it back down on the flat surface of the table in front of her. “That captain, what was his name, Hornigold? He offered pardons to the entire crew, and he didn’t even know many men there were. That means he was either bluffing, or he has a limitless amount to give away.” Slumping forward again, she propped one of her elbows up on the table and leaned her chin in her hand. “He said he was speaking on behalf of King George himself, right? Now, why would the King be handing out pardons, if he isn’t trying to take back Nassau?” Evelyn said as she continued to stare down at her cup, tracing the tip of her finger along the rim. “It’s actually pretty damn brilliant if you think about it. What better way for him to retake Nassau, then to offer a universal pardon to its inhabitants? He’ll have it back under English rule without even a fight.”

“You have been sailing with our crew for barely a month,” Silver stated pensively, as he moved to fill up his cup again. “How have you learned so much about us already, and about Nassau, and its history?”

She shrugged a shoulder, sliding her cup back towards him in a silent plea for a refill. “Joji told me.”

“Joji?” he asked, freezing his movements, the bottle hanging mid-air above the cup as he stared her down.

“Yeah,” she nodded, and then frowned when she raised her head to stare at him. The look on the quartermaster’s face was one of pure astonishment and, for once, it didn’t seem feigned. “You know, the tall Asian guy, with the stern looking face?” she clarified.

“I know who Joji is,” he responded, still sounding somewhat shocked, “it just surprises me that you spoke with the man. I didn’t think he could talk.”

“Of course he can talk,” she scoffed. “He's not stupid.”

“Well, he's never once uttered a word to me.”

“That's because he doesn't like you.”

“Beg your pardon?” he said, clearly insulted, “on what evidence are you basing that unnecessarily rude assessment?”

Again, she merely shrugged a shoulder. “Like I said; he told me.” And she pointed towards her empty cup, raising a meaningful eyebrow at him.

He sighed dejectedly, and proceeded to refill both their drinks. “But he selected me to be his quartermaster, the crew’s vote was unanimous.”

“Just because they voted for you, doesn’t mean they like you,” she told him bluntly. “They _tolerate_ you. There’s a difference.” She gave him a sympathetic look before she continued: “They like Captain Flint even less, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It really doesn’t,” he moped petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “What else did he say about me?”

“Who, Joji?” she asked. And when he nodded, she bit her bottom lip in deliberation. “Well,” she started carefully, and when he gave her another incredulous look, she sighed deeply and bit out: “is this the part where I should lie to you to protect your delicate emotions?”

Silver shook his head and chuckled despite himself. “Point taken,” he said. He leaned forward, folding his hands atop the table, and studied her for a moment with a pensive look on his face. “I know that you wish to leave us as soon as we arrive in Nassau, but perhaps you should consider extending your stay here aboard the Walrus. The crew certainly seems to like you, and as it turns out you are not half bad at the politics either.”

“Not half bad?” she repeated, the corner of her mouth curling up into an involuntary grin. “That almost sounded like an actual compliment. Careful now, Mr. Silver, your humanity is showing.”

He laughed at that. A real, full-on belly laugh, all white teeth and charming dimples and everything. And it was all she could do not to stare at him in complete amazement, because this bright and happy looking Silver was quite a sight to behold. “You should smile more often,” she told him, still in awe, and unable to hold back the amused smile that crossed her lips in response to his.

“If only there was more reason to,” he agreed amicably, his eyes still twinkling with mirth. “Unfortunately, circumstances these last few days have not been of the amusing kind.”

“Hmm, that is a shame,” she nodded ruefully. “I do so much prefer this cheerful John Silver over the sulky version.”

“Sulky?”

Again, he sounded totally affronted. Really, it was almost too easy to needle this man. She threw him playful smirk and nodded. “Well yeah, what else would you call it?”

“Enigmatic, handsome, mystifying,” he said, listing the words on his fingers.

And now it was her turn to burst out laughing. “Ah yes,” she said, still chuckling, “mystifying. That would be the perfect description of you. You are definitely confusing as shit.”

He merely gave her another mock-affronted look and she couldn’t help but snigger at him again. “Tell me,” he said, leaning forward with a look of sincere interest on his face, “are all women from the new world as forward, or so insightful as yourself?”

Hiding another amused smile, she averted her gaze back down to her hands which lay folded atop the table. She was surprised to find herself actually enjoying herself, having this lighthearted conversation with Silver. “You know what, Mr. Silver,” she quipped, “I’m kind of disappointed that you’d expect a woman to cling to whatever nonsense civilization has deemed to be proper.” She looked up and quirked a delicate eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you a pirate, and completely adverse to the rule of England? If you yourself refuse to uphold propriety, why would you expect others to do so?”

It earned her a heartfelt chuckle from the quartermaster, and he threw her another one of those appreciative glances. “Fair enough,” he said. His blue eyes radiated a certain playful liveliness, and again she couldn’t stop the smile from crossing her lips in response. “A toast then, to new friends,” Silver raised his glass in a salute, “may you find whatever it is that you seek, and if not, at least what you need.”

“Cheers to that,” Evelyn said, tilting her glass at him, before downing its contents. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and placed her cup back on the table, studying Silver as he moved to fill their glasses again. In the soft glow of the candles that burned inside the cabin, he seemed to be no older than twenty, but she knew that in the harsher light of the day it was clear that he was in fact somewhere in his early thirties. Behind that messy tangle of his dark beard, his lips were twitching upwards in a cocky grin, and there was a hint of mischief glinting in those startling blue eyes. He was rugged, and worn, yet he still looked almost boyishly handsome.

Despite what he’d just said, the two of them weren’t friends, and she really needed to keep reminding herself of that, because she was beginning to genuinely like the quartermaster. Whatever they had between them was nothing more than a temporary alliance of convenience, and a shaky one at that. But right now, as they sat laughing and talking and drinking together, she desperately wanted to pretend that he was more than just a momentary ally. Because, for some reason, it really helped calm her nerves after today’s rather violent and destructive events.


	18. Chapter 18

_September 1715, back amongst calm waters_

* * *

The ocean was clear and tranquil, almost as if she was breathing peacefully; her waters rising and falling evenly in a steady rhythm. Leaning on the rail, Billy’s eyes were glued to the gentle swell of the waves. If he hadn't been such an experienced sailor, he would have believed the calm façade of the water beneath him. He knew better though; the ocean was a compelling and powerful mistress, with enough force to damage or even completely destroy ships and their crews in her rage.

But then, Billy pondered as he shifted his gaze towards a certain petite brunette who sat peacefully at the quarterdeck, the most innocent of faces were the usually the toughest. Once again he realized just how lucky they had been, that she and her two friends had been so bold to go up against Flint after the captain had nearly convinced them all to sail straight into that sea storm. Billy didn’t even wish to consider what would have happened, had they fallen victim to the destruction of both that vicious storm, and the sheer madness of their own captain.

Billy heaved a deep, exhausted sigh and let his gaze travel across the upper decks, deliberately turning his back towards the ocean. The ship’s decks were more crowded than they would usually be during this time of the day. The aftermath of Hornigold’s attack had left the Walrus with quite a substantial amount of damage, and now that she was well back on her course again, the crew had started the repairs on the ship’s hull.

And not only the ship had suffered from the violence of that short and intense battle. Part of her crew was currently incapacitated as well, and both Dr. Howell and Mr. Evans had their hands full as they took care of the men, from stitching up cuts to try and stop gaping wounds from festering, to coming up with remedies to prevent the early symptoms of scurvy. Their food supplies had begun to run dangerously low, which had forced them to cut back on the crew’s rations. And while their cook, Mr. Brown, did what he could with the depleted foodstuffs at hand, the men were beginning to show signs of malnutrition, as well as the illnesses and other discomforts that came along with it.

The distinct sound of Silver’s iron foot scraping across the wooden floorboards shook him from his discouraging thoughts, and Billy turned his head as the quartermaster joined him at the upper gun deck. He gave Silver a silent nod in acknowledgement, before turning his attention back towards the crowded decks again. “You spoke to him then?” he asked, knowing full well that Silver had just come back from visiting the captain in his cabin.

Earlier this morning, he and Silver had discussed Hornigold’s offer to pardon them all. It just didn’t sit right with Billy. He thought it suspicious, that Hornigold could hold so many of them, when only weeks ago Captain Hume had told Billy that it had taken him every ounce of leverage he could muster to secure just 10 pardons. The first mate had shared his concern with Silver who, much to Billy’s surprise, had actually acknowledged his unease and agreed to take it up with the captain.

“Hmm,” Silver hummed vaguely in reply. “Wasn’t the most invigorating of talks, I must say. Flint's certain that the fight for Nassau is over already, if there even was one at all.”

This made Billy turn around to level Silver with an incredulous stare. “Over? You mean to say we’re to return to a besieged Nassau, taken over by British invasion?”

“Aye,” Silver answered plainly. “It's likely it didn't last long either. If pardons were offered amongst those within Nassau, that would’ve easily lowered their defenses. And it would’ve been too tempting to simply accept the pardons and be done with it.”

“I can’t imagine Nassau being overtaken without any battle,” Billy scoffed in disbelief. “Charles Vane certainly would have put up a resistance.”

“Vane would not have been able to maintain that sort of resolve.” Silver breathed out a sigh and leaned his hands against the rail as he stared out at the ocean. “Not by himself.”

“He isn’t alone,” Billy shook his head. “He was left in charge of an entire fleet. Him and Rackham. And with the Man O’ War defending the harbor…”

“I argued the same,” Silver said. “The captain’s answer was that he cannot imagine them planning an organized defense against a much larger British fleet. Called it damn near impossible, to be precise.”

“So Nassau has most likely fallen. Yet we plan to return to it anyway.”

“Flint is convinced the partnership still stands, even if it has been jeopardized.” Silver said, without looking up at Billy. “The men would have resisted the pardons if we had been there.”

“And if we go back, he will help instill that resolve once again,” Billy stated, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced as he said it.

“Indeed.”

“How?”

“Those men were motivated because of Flint’s ability to create a narrative and to wield it to compel men's hearts and minds. Only days ago, he had us all as far as to rather battle a tempest than even consider surrendering to Hornigold.” Silver rubbed his beard, turning his gaze towards the quarterdeck, where Evelyn still sat with her head bent, staring at the book in her lap. “If those three hadn’t intervened, we would've all been dead men, consumed by that storm, sacrificed by his rage.”

“Flint’s madness has been the problem all along,” Billy sneered. “As quartermaster, it's your job to oppose him when needed, and we are all fortunate that when you didn’t have the mind to do so, _they_ did.”

Silver nodded dejectedly. “Be that as it may, at this very moment, Flint’s state of mind is so dark and distant, it threatens to kill us all.” He fell silent for a moment, eyes glazing over as he stared ahead with a brooding look on his face. And then his gaze travelled back up towards the quarterdeck once more as he noticed that Flint had joined Evelyn up there. He narrowed his eyes in thought, carefully studying the captain as he conversed with the tiny brunette. Evelyn seemed reluctant, almost uncomfortable even, to be in his presence, but Flint appeared deeply captivated. “Although, as luck would have it,” Silver stated pensively, “it appears there is someone aboard this ship who is not afraid to stand up to our captain.”

After following his gaze, Billy looked back at the man with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You would propel her into this, use her as a shield against that man’s rage?” he exclaimed. “Remind me again who’s the ruthless madman in this equation.”

“I'm clearheaded, Billy.” Silver responded calmly. “I have watched that man turn himself inside out over the very idea that anyone would see him as the villain in this story. Well, right now he is the greatest villain in the new world. I believe that thought is torture for him. And if we are to manage Flint, we need to help end that torment.” He turned his gaze towards the first mate, and gave him a cocky smile and a confident nod. “Fortunately, I happen to be somewhat of a storyteller myself.” He raised an unamused eyebrow at Billy when the man snorted at that understatement. “And,” Silver continued, undeterred, “I know that the most compelling tale does require a villain at its center.”

Billy frowned but nodded as he listened to the quartermaster. “Go on.”

“The villain makes the story,” Silver explained. “If Flint believes himself to be that or, even worse, believes us to be that, then all is lost. In order to manage our captain, we must continuously remind him exactly who our common villain truly is, which is England.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Billy asked as he gave him a sharp look. “You and the captain haven't exactly been on the warmest of terms lately.”

“Well, Billy, that is where our lovely Miss Clarkson comes into the story.” The familiar, arrogant grin made a reappearance on Silver’s handsome face as he said this. “I am confident that her blatant resistance to Flint’s immorality might just be exactly what the captain needs to distract himself from this dark path he’s been on ever since we left the smoke of Charlestown. And that diversion is all I need to reinstate myself at his side again.” He let go of the railings, turning around and stealing another look at the quarterdeck. Evelyn was still sitting on the stairs, with Flint hovering over her. He couldn’t see the captain’s expression, as his back was turned towards him, but he could see hers. And she continued to look quite unhappy as she gazed up at the man in front of her.

“Looks like she could use some distraction as well,” Billy commented plainly.

“Indeed,” Silver dipped his chin in agreement. “Pardon me.” He gave the first mate another quick nod, and then swiftly turned and proceeded to walk away from him.

Billy watched him go, before turning around to lean back on the rails again. Behind him, Silver’s iron boot made a rhythmical noise against the hardwood flooring of the gangway, solid and steady like a soldier. The first mate sighed and stared out over the water. His expression was firm and pensive as he watched the ocean glimmer underneath the bright sunshine. His callused fingers brushed the surface of the banister, relishing the warmth of the wood as it heated underneath the blazing sun. He stood perfectly still as he surveyed the horizon, his muscular upper-body hunching downwards when he leaned over the rail. The water was flawless and smooth beneath him; no disturbance, no waves, and perfectly clear like a mirror. He looked down into it, and a stranger looked back at him from the water. His face still looked familiar but there was a harshness to his eyes now that hadn’t been there before. And he wasn’t quite sure if he recognized himself anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, whoever is still reading this, for sticking with me. The next couple of weeks will still be a bit hectic for me. But after that, I should be able to update this more often.  
> Once again thank you, and comments or kudos are still very much appreciated!


	19. Chapter 19

_September 1715, conversations on deck_

* * *

He was dreaming, surely. Either that, or he was hallucinating, and his mind had finally given up on him. The end result was the same; _she_ was here again. Miranda. She was standing right there, inside his cabin, clear as day. Still beautiful, even in death, but where her dark eyes had once been brimming with life, they were now cold and empty, and void of any emotion. She was speaking to him, yelling even, and he could see her mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear her, couldn’t make out the words.

After all this time, he didn’t know how to be himself anymore, not without her. The person he was, the person he had been, that man had been erased, consumed by his grief. He could feel his sanity slipping away from him. It forced him to remake himself as someone different, someone who did not feel, did not trust, did not care for anything in this world anymore. He had become nothing more than an empty shell. Without her stability, his chaos sent him spinning into a place where he was lost.

His inner turmoil drove him out of his cabin for the first time in days. He needed to get away. Away from her, away from himself. Truthfully, he didn’t know who – or what – he was running from anymore at this point. He sprinted up the stairs towards the quarterdeck, pushing open the gallery door with much more force than necessary. It slammed back harshly against the wooden paneling, making the other person up on the deck jump up in fright.

Flint took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm himself. As he continued to breathe in and out through his nose, he noticed several heads turning in his direction at his dramatic entrance. Willing his face into its usual stern expression, he stared down those whose gazes tended to linger on him a little too long to his liking. Then, he turned his gaze towards the other occupant on the deck.

Evelyn was sitting in her usual spot; at the set of steps that led up to the poop deck. Her left leg was tucked away neatly underneath her skirt and hidden from sight, the other leg was stretched out in front of her, exposing a tiny bare foot, her ankle and quite a bit of her calf. One of her elbows was propped up on her raised left knee, and she leaned her head in her hand as she stared down at the book that rested in her lap. She seemed completely captivated by it, never once raising her head as the men bustled around and went about their daily chores on the decks around her.

Flint frowned as he studied Evelyn. For all the world around her, she seemed to be nothing more than a sweet and innocent little creature, calm and collected, and peacefully reading her book. He knew better though; he had seen this supposedly harmless woman create death and destruction with a calculated precision. She had created pure chaos with a mere flick of her dainty fingers, completely calm and undeterred when she handled those deadly shots. She was rather odd and inconsistent, a mystery of a person, an enigma that he couldn’t quite figure out, and he was loathe to admit that it fascinated him to no end.

He hadn’t seen much of her since the confrontation with Hornigold, he suddenly realized. In fact, it very much appeared as if she had made it her sole mission in life not to run into him. And she had done quite a thorough job in avoiding him so far. Deciding that he didn’t appreciate this blunt avoidance of him, he purposely strode across the deck and stopped to stand right in front of her. “Miss Clarkson,” he said politely, hoping to lure her attention away from her book, and towards him instead.

“Captain,” she responded serenely, giving him a polite little nod when she raised her eyes and peered up at him from her seat on the stairs.

Flint scowled when she immediately redirected her gaze back to the book in her lap, happily ignoring him once again. But as he stared at her, he could easily recognize the tension within her. It was there in the way her fingers clasped her book, the way she held her shoulders slightly hunched upwards, and the way she purposely refused to look up and face him. He decided to quietly persevere, standing just a little too close to her, and after a while he was rewarded with a deep, exasperated sigh.

“Is there anything I can help you with, captain?” she bit out, clearly irritated. She still wasn’t looking up at him, but at least she was now acknowledging his presence.

“Is everything alright?” he asked her kindly in return, deliberately keeping the tone of his voice calm, almost gentle even.

She shrugged a shoulder, still staring down at her book. “Of course,” she responded, her voice sickly sweet, “everything’s just perfect, thank you.”

“I haven’t seen you at all these past few days,” he stated, stubbornly persisting until she would look up at him.

“Yes, well,” she said, her eyes remaining firmly planted on the fragile, yellowed pages in front of her, “you haven’t been out of your cabin for the past few days.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards as that witty temperament of hers began to boil to the surface. “I’m sure you are quite finished with this book. Did I not tell you that you are welcome to borrow others?”

“Yes, you did. But then I figured that it probably wasn’t a very good idea to bother you,” she carefully closed the book and finally raised her gaze to meet his.

“You have been avoiding me,” he stated bluntly, locking eyes with her.

If it was true, then she refused to admit to it. She didn’t respond at all, in fact. She merely pressed her lips together and then avoided his gaze again, turning her head to look out over the ocean.

“Billy told me that your father was a sailor,” Flint suddenly changed the subject, sure that this would lure her attention back to him again.

He was right; her gaze flicked back to his instantly. She hummed vaguely in response, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes as she looked at him. And he caught a rare glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes when he mentioned her father, a vulnerability that she quite obviously wished to hide from the world around her. It was there and then gone again before she even blinked, and he realized that he didn’t like that, he didn’t want her to hide from him.

“He also told me that you used to sail with your father,” he continued, curious now, and eager to see if he could entice more emotions out of her. “Is this how you learned so much about sailing?”

He watched her dip her chin in a slight nod, the look in her eyes still wary. “You’re a sailor yourself, captain. You know how things go aboard a ship,” she said with a slight shrug, and at the inquisitive raise of his eyebrows, she sighed and reluctantly continued: “My father was always a firm believer of earning your keep, so whenever I sailed with him, he pretty much forced me to help out on deck. And, since I’ve always been the smallest amongst any crew, I’m sure you can guess who got the fine job of climbing the rigs.” She raised a meaningful eyebrow at him. “I learned about sailing the way all sailors do; by hard work, and trial and error.”

He let out an amused snort, which made her eyes grow wide as if she couldn’t quite believe he was capable of such a sound. “I must admit that you baffle me, Miss Clarkson,” Flint said, enjoying the way she continued to look at him with her head slightly tilted, and with curious interest clouding those eyes of hers rather than wariness this time. “You must feel restless then, aboard this ship with nothing to do but read.” His mouth quirked again when she let out a skeptical huff, and he nodded to himself as he made a quick decision. “Perhaps you and I can make a deal.”

And just like that, the look in her eyes went from mild curiosity back to guarded apprehension as quick as lightning. “What sort of deal?” she asked him, her tone suspicious.

“Nothing too worrying, I assure you,” he told her. He found that he quite liked seeing the way her emotions were reflected in her expressions. It amazed him, how much she could convey with just her eyes. “If I asked you to assist Billy with the maintenance of the ship’s riggings, in exchange for more freedom on this ship, perhaps so you can talk to your friends more often, would you be interested in such an arrangement?” he asked.

“Maybe.” Evelyn leaned back and crossed her arms as she seemed to considered his offer. “Probably,” she said, remaining quiet for a moment before slumping her shoulders and heaving a dejected sigh. “Alright, who am I kidding. Yes, definitely.”

Flint grinned at her answer, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into an actual full-blown smile behind that auburn beard. “Well then,” he said, content when he noticed that she gave him a tentative smile in return. “I suppose we have an agreement,” and he extended his hand to shake hers on their deal.

“Pardon me, captain.”

Silver’s voice interrupted them, and Flint gritted his teeth as Evelyn froze at the sound of the man’s voice, pulling back her hand before their fingers could touch. “That man’s timing is simply impeccable,” he snarled in frustration, before he too turned around to address the quartermaster. “Yes, Mr. Silver?”

The quartermaster gave him a polite nod and then focused his attention on Evelyn. “Actually, I was here to fetch Miss Clarkson,” he said with a charming smile towards the woman. He looked back at the captain and gave him a wary look. “If you don’t mind, and with your permission, of course, captain.”

He was just about to tell the man that he did, in fact, minded this interruption very much, when Evelyn quickly brushed right past him. “Ah yes of course,” she exclaimed, and she sounded just a tad bit too relieved to his liking. “Mr. Silver insisted to escort me to the galley, for dinner.” She beamed brightly at Silver as she reached for his arm. “Thank you again for your kind invitation,” she told the man warmly, as she deliberately started steering him towards the main deck.

Flint scowled as he watched them go, once again pondering when, and how, those two had become so friendly. But then he decided not to let it bother him, for now. Silver was evidently playing some sort of angle again, and he was confident that he would find out what and why sooner or later. If he had ever learned something about the quartermaster, it was that the man never did anything if it did not serve to benefit him one way or another. The man was a deceitful and unreliable piece of shit, but if there was one thing you could trust about John Silver, it was his strong tenacity for opportunism.

He honestly wasn’t even sure why he insisted to keep the man around anymore. He would never truly get to know the man; John Silver would never let anyone see behind that ever-changing mask of his. Whoever Silver was, depended on whoever he was talking to at that specific time, and on whatever it was that he wanted from that particular individual. He could be anything, from a ruthless pirate to a defenseless but charming young man, and each of the characters would have their own backstory. And he had an endless amount of histories; his parents were either loving, or abusive, or dead. He was an orphan, brought up in a foster home and forced to steal for food, or the only son of a Spanish aristocrat who had gambled away his inheritance.

Part of Flint wanted to turn his back on the man, but then – Silver was the only person left in this godforsaken world who would still tolerate him. And while he realized that their relationship was entirely one-sided, Flint still needed _someone_ in his life, if only to make him feel less alone.


	20. Chapter 20

_September 1715, getting into deeper water_

* * *

Once again, the ocean was calm and gentle as the Walrus waded effortlessly through the waves. The rising sun painted the clear blue skies with numerous shades of orange and red, and Captain Flint stood alone on the quarterdeck, quietly appreciating the rare and peaceful silence of the dawn. It was still very early, and most of the crew were down below in the mess area, either still slumbering or already having their breakfast. The only other people who were up and about on the upper decks besides the captain were the two men keeping guard, and Evelyn.

Flint spotted her easily at the forecastle and he wasn’t surprised to find her there; it seemed to have become her favorite spot ever since she’d been given free range on the ship. She was currently sitting atop of one of the crates that were stacked there, her long brown hair hanging in a messy braid against her back. She was staring out at the horizon, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms draped lazily around them. It appeared that she too had woken up early to go and enjoy the sunrise, and she seemed completely captivated by the colorful spectacle of it.

As he continued to watch Evelyn, Flint pondered why and, more importantly, how this woman managed to sneak her way into his mind so frequently, and so effortlessly. She wasn't beautiful, at least not in the classical way; no flowing golden tresses or full red lips. She was much shorter than average and her tiny frame was certainly too thin to be considered alluring. And yet, despite all her averageness, she radiated a certain enticing allure. She carried herself with a firm dignity, and an impressive willpower, as if she simply refused to let anyone in this world to dissuade her. It was something she seemed portray naturally, much in the way she was doing right now; sitting there alone and with her eyes stubbornly turned away from everything around her, a brief smile across her face as a gust of wind encircled her. Perhaps it was because she was so disarmingly unaware of it, but something shone from within her, and Flint found himself completely fascinated by it.

He turned his gaze back towards the spectacular view of the sunrise, frowning at his own contemplations. These last few days had given his life some odd twists and turns. When they had left Charlestown, his very own mind had become his oppressor, and his thoughts had become his torturers, only escapable by sleep. Yet sleeping had become rare; a near impossible feat. And somehow, ever since that odd little trio had boarded his ship, the demons that haunted him seemed to have slackened their cruelty, which had dulled the sharp torment, and had gradually allowed him to retrace his unhinged mind back towards a calmer and much clearer path once more.

Up at the forecastle, Evelyn was trying to make sense her own disturbing thoughts and feelings. A few days ago, shortly after that strange little run-in with Flint, she had shared another surprisingly pleasant conversation with John Silver. After he had saved her from the company of that very confusing captain, the two of them had gone to the mess area, where they had shared a table as Curtis served them their dinner. The quartermaster had once again thanked her and both her friends for what he had described as ‘saving them all from a sure and painful death’.

He had told her that it was clear to him that she was beginning to gain influence on Flint, for the captain otherwise would never have listened to her and her friends. Evelyn herself was less convinced of her impact on the captain; she figured that she and her friends had merely blind-sighted the man and then put him on the spot in front of his entire crew, and at a very inopportune moment at that. Either way, the outcome was the same; both Silver and Billy were now convinced that she and her friends were exactly what they needed to get through to their captain so that they could ‘manage’ him again.

She squeezed her eyes closed and lowered her head to rest her forehead against her knees, groaning in frustration. Seriously, all those political games that these pirates kept playing were messing with her head! There were too many power-hungry men here, with too much testosterone, and way too much pride. And, while Evelyn was quite used to being in poor company – she was a woman working in a field that was almost entirely dominated by men after all – these pirates were seriously pushing her towards her limit.

Raising her head back up, she turned to look over her shoulder, and her gaze landed on Flint who was still standing alone on the quarterdeck. She blew a strand of hair from her face, frowning as she watched him. He stood with his hands locked behind his back, his body held with perfect posture, and his face completely impassive. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she was sitting, but she knew they were a tantalizing blueish-green, much like the ocean he was master of. They were his most striking feature, in her opinion, along with that auburn beard which highlighted the scowl on his lips and somehow made him seem even more authoritative than his entire appearance already implied.

With another deep and frustrated sigh, she hoisted herself up from the crate she’d been reclining on. She’d promised Silver to at least try and be civil to the captain and she supposed that right now was as good a time as any to fulfil that promise. Slowly, reluctantly, she crossed the gangways towards the aft of the ship, biting her lip and taking her time as she climbed the steps that lead up to the quarterdeck.

When she finally reached him, Flint was still standing at the rails, gazing out over the ocean, seemingly lost in the pulsing drum of the waves. The sun’s orange rays bathed his face in a rosy golden glow, and his lips carried the remnants of a smile, which told her that he was probably enjoying his thoughts, whatever they were. He made no move to acknowledge her, so she wordlessly sat herself down on the set of steps a few feet away from him. Just close enough for him to notice her presence, but quiet enough to let him to stay lost in his musings if he wanted to.

He turned his head and for a moment she found herself caught by the intensity of his eyes. His gaze was sharp; piercing straight through her, and it instantly made her feel dead nervous. She shivered involuntarily, suddenly feeling lightheaded. How did this man have such an effect on her? “Didn’t mean to disturb you,” she told him quietly with an apologetic look.

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment, and he shook his head. “You didn’t,” he assured her, turning to face her. He looked as though he wanted to say more and while Evelyn had always prided herself at her ability to read people, she struggled to decipher what was going through this man’s head.

“Mind if I ask you something?” she questioned, suddenly curious about the man behind the captain. He didn’t exactly answer her, but the way he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and then peered at her with a patient look on his face, made her feel confident enough to go on. “I heard that you used to be a Navy man.” He scowled momentarily at that, but gave her an indulgent nod, so she quickly continued: “what drove you to do a complete one-eighty, to become a pirate, and fight _against_ your King and Country?”

There was a confused frown on his face as he stared down at her. “Who-”

“Silver,” she answered simply.

He looked away from her then, scowling. “Of course,” he said angrily, “that little shit.” He turned around abruptly, hands gripping the rails as he stared out over the water.

Evelyn cocked her head to the side as she studied him. Even though she could now only see his back, she easily noticed the tightness in his stance, and the clenching of his jaw. Whatever it was that had driven him to piracy, it clearly still pained him deeply. “You know what,” she told him, “forget I even asked anything. It’s obviously a personal story.”

“England,” he spoke up in a tight voice, his back still towards her, “took away everything from my life that I held dear. When I tried to change it, I was banished for it. My…,” he paused, cleared his throat, tried again: “my friend was killed for it.” He dipped his head, hunching his shoulders inwards. “Both my friends were killed for it.” He turned his head, locking eyes with her and she found that she couldn’t look away. “And England turned me into the enemy, a villain, because I refused to conform to their definition,” he continued, with those blue-green eyes of his still firmly locked on hers.

There was a deep sadness in those eyes; in them she could read that he was forever tormented by a past that could not be undone. It made her want to reach out to him in comfort, because nobody should ever hurt that much. But then she realized just who she was talking to and she quickly broke his gaze, looking down at her hands as she folded them in her lap. “So, all of this,” Evelyn said instead, trying to put it into words, “it’s all about payback then. You were thrown out of England, and now that they’ve come knocking in Nassau, you want to do the same to them.”

“What I want is to _liberate_ Nassau, and make it a place where we can be free of the yoke of England,” he told her. “They wish to tell us who to love or to hate. They wish to tell us who should live and die. They branded me the enemy because I wish to be free of them, free of the powers that try to control people’s lives.” He shook his head and looked at her with honest eyes. “The one thing I wish, above all else, is to be bound to none; no king, and no country.”

She propped her elbows up on her knees and rested her chin in her hands as she studied him. The dark coat, the sturdy leather boots, those strong hands with the dirty fingernails which rested atop the belt that crossed his torso. Everything about this man screamed ruthless ferocity, and brute strength, and it unnerved Evelyn, because now he was showing her another part of Captain Flint, a much more vulnerable and human part. And it was completely unexpected, something she hadn’t really considered he could possess.

Flint turned around to look at her when she remained silent, hesitation clouding his eyes. “Tell me what are you thinking,” he demanded softly, his voice uncertain.

“I-,” she started tentatively, forgetting who he was for a moment, lost in those dark depths of emotions that swirled in his eyes. The sudden ringing of the eight bells saved her from having to answer him. It signaled the end of the dogwatch, and called the rest of the crew to breakfast. The loud sound of it echoed through the silence, and made Evelyn look away from Flint, effectively breaking that bizarre, poignant moment between her and the captain.

Not a second later, the gallery door swung open and they were joined on deck by John Silver, who was clearly on his way to the galley, to get breakfast. The man gave them both a short nod in greeting, and beamed brightly at them. “Shall we?” he asked, jerking his head towards the ship’s bow.

Flint nodded at the quartermaster and then lifted one booted foot up on the steps where Evelyn sat. He leaned in, bracing his forearm against his raised knee as he held out a hand to her. “Join us?” he asked.

It was probably not a good idea, Evelyn realized, to get involved with either of these two men. But she couldn’t help herself. Slowly, hesitantly, she placed her own hand in Flint’s and let herself be pulled up. His grip was firm, but the touch of his fingers was a lot more gentle than she had expected. He carefully grabbed hold of her hand and placed it in the nook of his elbow, drawing her closer to him, and she swallowed at the sudden intimacy the action caused.

Behind Flint’s back, Silver gave her an appreciative stare and Evelyn almost rolled her eyes at the man when she noticed that annoyingly enthusiastic look on his face. “Excellent,” the quartermaster said cheerfully to no one in particular, as he turned around to start making his way towards the galley.

Evelyn bit her lip as she allowed Flint to lead her down the steps and across the gangway in a leisurely saunter. Her heartbeat picked up at his closeness; the man made her dead nervous and she couldn’t quite figure out what he was thinking. It was all terribly confusing to her; one moment he was cold, emotionless and just plain terrifying, and the next he seemed almost kind, in the way he treated her with such polite gentleness. She decided that she much more preferred to simply see him as the cruel pirate captain that everyone said he was. It would make everything a lot simpler if she could just hate him.

Captain Flint was a dangerous man – ruthless and calculating. It was a fact she was painfully aware of, as she walked beside him, with her arm pressed against his and her hand resting against the rough leather of his coat sleeve. Her fingers started trembling and she inhaled deeply through her nose to calm her nerves, pressing her lips together when the smell of him invaded her senses. He smelled like rum and leather, and-

-and she really should not be analyzing this man’s smell. What was wrong with her? And where was Milo when she needed him? Her friend usually had this amazing talent of walking in and saving her from the most awkward situations. So where was he now? Frustrated with herself, she pursed her lips and stole a quick look up at Flint from the corner of her eye. And then frowned when she noticed him staring down at her.

“What?” she bit out sharply, tilting her head to meet his gaze.

“You never did answer my question,” he said, locking eyes with her. “You were about to, before Silver interrupted us, as he does.”

“Yeah well, I’m pretty sure that whatever I think really isn’t that important anyway,” she stated with a slight shrug.

His mouth quirked into one of those few rare smiles of his, and Evelyn found herself momentarily stunned by the change it caused in his appearance: happy wrinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes as his lips curled up. The left side of his mouth quirked a little further up than the right, which made his smile just a bit crooked, and somehow Evelyn found that inexorably charming.

“Sails! Sails coming in from the south!”

The shouts from the crow’s nest shook her from her contemplations and she watched as Flint abruptly turned his head to look back at the quarterdeck, where Billy and De Groot were already running up to.

“Six ships,” said De Groot, pointing east. “British colors.”

“Aw crap,” Evelyn breathed out nervously, “even more trouble?” Her fingers involuntarily curled into the fabric of Flint’s sleeve as they both stared in the direction De Groot had pointed at.

Flint shook his head in answer, and then narrowed his eyes as a thought popped into his head. “How many ships, did you say?”

“Six sets of sails,” De Groot answered.

“Describe them, would you please.”

“Captain?”

“The ships. Please describe them.”

“Three tall ships, two sloops and one man of war,” came the answer from the crow’s next above them.

“One man of war,” Flint repeated pensively, and he caught Billy’s gaze. The first mate nodded in understanding; he had thought of the same thing as the captain. “Make a course to intercept them,” said Flint.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Time is short, Mr. De Groot.” Billy answered in the captain’s stead. “Just get us under way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and the love on the last few chapters. Seriously, you have no idea how much they mean to me!


	21. Chapter 21

_September 1715, still at sea and with too many captains_

* * *

The Man of War appeared grand and majestic from a distance, with masts that stood as tall as trees. Her bow met the water with a calm regality, creating waves of her own. As the ship made her steady approach however, it became clear that she had known the ocean too long; the beautiful ancient wood had suffered from years of service in the biting saltwater, and the sails that fluttered from the masts seemed little more than dull rags, with any trace of their original color bleached by the sweltering sun.

On the poop deck stood a sinister looking man, tall and with broad shoulders. He wore knee-length boots and dark clothing, topped with a wide hat and a long, deep red coat. There were two separate belts slung over his shoulders and across his torso, each equipped with three pistol holsters. Black hair and an impressive beard completed the man’s intimidating and dark appearance.

“Is that … ?” Billy’s question broke the silence.

“Teach,” answered Flint through gritted teeth.

Evelyn froze and swallowed thickly. She didn’t know much about the eighteenth century, or about any of the notorious criminals from this golden age of piracy, but she knew enough to be suitably intimidated by the infamous Captain Blackbeard.

“Perhaps it’ll be wise if Miss Clarkson stayed back for this,” Silver opted timidly, catching Evelyn’s sharp look of incredulity with a warning look of his own.

Flint nodded, grabbing Evelyn’s hand to untangle it from his arm, his gaze remaining firmly locked on the fast approaching fleet. “Why don’t you escort the lady back to her cabin?” he told the quartermaster distractedly.

Evelyn frowned as she let go of Flint’s arm and then watched him hurry up the steps to join Billy and De Groot on the poop deck. “Fuck that,” she told Silver bluntly, and she took a step back, instinctively creating some distance between herself and the quartermaster. “You’re not locking me up again.”

“Alright,” he said, and she was surprised when he gave her an understanding nod. “Then would you at least stand back and amongst the men so that no one will see you? It is for your own safety,” he gave her a rueful smile, “who knows what those men will do if they notice a woman aboard the Walrus.”

Right. The ships that were approaching carried more pirates. Evelyn nodded dully, ashamed of herself. Silver had actually only been worried for her. “Of course,” she agreed quickly and then, when he started moving towards the poop deck as well, she grabbed his arm and asked: “is this meeting a good or a bad thing?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Silver answered truthfully as he stared pensively ahead, “we were expecting someone else to be in charge of this particular fleet.”

“Someone else,” she repeated, confused. “Who?”

“Charles Vane.”

Turning her head sharply at the mention of that name, Evelyn gave him an intense stare. “Vane. Didn’t you say he was rebuilding the fort in Nassau?”

Silver nodded. “Aye, him and Rackham.” He turned to look at her. “It seems that you were quite right with your assumptions a few nights ago. Nassau must be besieged, if the Man of War is here instead of where it should be; defending Nassau’s harbor and its fort. Now we must wait and see whether it was the British who overtook it, or Edward Teach.” And with that, he turned and started making his way towards the poop deck as well.

After easily spotting her friends amongst the crew, who were by now filling up the upper gun deck, Evelyn quickly weaved her way through the throng of men towards them. She reached Milo and Curtis just as a gangplank was placed between the Man of War and the Walrus.

“Hey,” Milo said as she stopped to stand right next to him, “any idea what’s going on?”

Evelyn shrugged. “Apparently we’re about to get a visit from Edward Teach himself.”

“Teach,” her blond friend repeated dully, before his eyes grew wide. “Wait, isn’t that…?”

“Blackbeard,” Evelyn confirmed with a nod, “yup, the one and only.”

Milo grinned and shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, so I know this probably doesn’t bode well for us and everything but, like, that’s freakin’ Blackbeard right there. This is totally awesome!”

Evelyn gave him an amused smile at the enthusiastic high pitch of his voice, before turning her attention back to what was happening on the quarterdeck. By now, the gangplank had been firmly fastened between the two ships, and that intimidating looking man, who she’d noticed earlier on the poop deck of the Man of War, was now barging across it.

“Captain Flint,” the man stated loudly, “when they sent Benjamin Hornigold after you, and none returned, we all assumed you were dead.” He stepped onto the deck of the Walrus and shook Flint’s hand. “Yet here you stand, alive and well.” The man clapped Flint on the back, and as he did so pulled him close. “Either you are unkillable, my friend, or way overdue,” he snarled in Flint’s face who, to his credit, remained perfectly calm at the man’s hostility and merely shrugged in response.

“One way or another, I am still here,” Flint answered plainly, with a meaningful look over the man’s shoulder, at the other man who had just stepped off the gangplank behind Blackbeard, “and it appears that we have much to discuss.”

As she followed Flint’s angry stare towards the other man, Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. Next to her, she heard both Milo and Curtis suck in their breaths in shock as well. This man needed no introduction to them. With that sandy brown hair, worn in long dreads and hanging loose across impressively broad shoulders, and those clear, almost crystalline, grey eyes, this man was the spitting image of their friend Zach Vane.

Captain Charles Vane nodded at Flint in acknowledgement, before letting his sharp gaze travel across the men that stood gathered around the upper decks of the Walrus. Evelyn froze and swallowed in shock when he shortly locked eyes with her. He looked like Zach’s _exact_ mirror image, but when he met her gaze it wasn’t with the warmth of the man that she knew. It was a cold and indifferent stare, and in his eyes she read no kindness; merely a blunt refusal to avert his gaze first. It made her shiver involuntarily. To see those semi-familiar features lacking the warm affection of her best friend was unsettling.

“Holy shit,” Milo breathed out quietly, as he grabbed Evelyn’s hand. “I think we just found our man.”

Evelyn nodded stupidly, squeezing his fingers in response, as she continued to stare at Captain Vane.

It was almost as if he had stolen best friend’s face, and then decided to wear it as a mask. But it somehow didn’t fit him quite right. Zach was quite a breathtaking character, with his roguish good looks and his laidback nature only adding to his attractiveness. This man however, looked more weathered, and rough around the edges. He’d probably been handsome once, hadn’t it been for the slightly crooked nose – clearly the result of being broken once or twice – and that jagged scar that ran straight through one of his eyebrows. His scars and blemishes not only evidenced the hard and violent life that this man had undoubtedly lived, they also succeeded to make him look that much more menacing as a pirate.

The trio watched in silence as Flint narrowed his eyes, and ran the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip before scowling at the two captains that had joined them aboard the Walrus. He looked up and around his crew, who all stood bluntly staring at them, then turned and jerked his head in a silent bid for his two new guests to follow him, as he started moving towards the gallery door. They were quickly joined by Silver and Billy, and as they all disappeared inside, Evelyn let out an annoyed breath. Crap. She should’ve listened to Flint when he’d told her to go to her cabin. Had she been there now, she would’ve been able to listen in on the conversation between the three captains.

“So,” Milo said conversationally, as he turned around to face Evelyn, “now that they’re gone, let’s talk about you and Flint, because you two sure looked awfully chummy parading across the deck this morning. What’s up with that?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, and angled her head to raise a challenging eyebrow at him. “Seriously, Milo?” she said, instantly annoyed, “you really wanna start that discussion? Right now?”

“Well, he certainly has a point,” Curtis cut in, stepping up on the other side of Milo. “It’s a bad idea to get involved with the captain, Evelyn. That man is a ruthless murderer-”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me about the fact that he’s a homicidal nutbar, _again_ ,” Evelyn cut him off, gritting her teeth in irritation. “Maybe I should remind the both of you that he is also the guy who gave me more freedom aboard this ship, which makes it a lot easier for us to talk to each other. And besides, I made that deal with John where I promised to-”

“John? Really? You’re on first name basis with the quartermaster now?” Curtis said. “Well, that’s just fantastic, isn’t it? Really, I am so very impressed by your ability to charm criminals. I’m sure _that’s_ going to be of great help in getting us out of here.”

“Whoa, okay,” Evelyn said as she turned her head to face her dark-haired friend, “first, and sincerely: fuck you, Curtis.” She crossed her arms and gave him an angry glare. “Second: I don’t see you doing anything remotely useful to get us out of here. Unless, of course, peeling potatoes is all part of your secret masterplan?”

“Alright guys, time out.” Milo stepped in resolutely. “Back to your corners.” He combed a hand through his already unruly curls and shook his head. “Sheesh, you two. You should hear yourselves right now.”

“I’m not the one strolling around deck, batting my eyelashes at the captain,” Curtis mumbled petulantly.

“For fuck’s sake, Curtis!” Evelyn let out an incredulous huff. “The guy was just being civil. It’s what people _do_ in this century. I couldn’t very well tell him to shove off, could I? And, by the way, weren’t you the one demanding us to adjust and fit in to this timeframe?”

“Civil? Darling, those lovely, civil gentlemen you’re thinking about only exist in Jane Austen novels. This isn’t Mr. Darcy, this is Captain James Flint, the worst pirate of the new world! He probably wouldn’t even recognize politeness if it bit him in the ass!”

“Actually, _darling_ , as it turns out, Flint wasn’t always a pirate. He was a respectable man once, who served England in the Royal Navy. So he does know how to be a well-mannered gentleman.”

“Wait, what?” Curtis eyes were wide as he swiveled back around to look at her.

“Yah, you’d be amazed by the things I’ve found out, just by batting my eyelashes,” Evelyn spat at him with a sneer in her voice that extended to her eyes, and which made even Milo cringe. She was good at arguing – she’d been president of the debate team back in high school – and in moments like these, where pure anger took over, she could say anything; whatever was most hurtful, and whatever gave her the most satisfying victory.

Luckily, their argument was cut short when the gallery door swung open and a heated looking Blackbeard stepped out, followed closely behind by an equally angry looking Flint. They had already stalked their way over to the main deck, each to a different side of it, when Vane, Silver and Billy walked through the door as well. Vane sauntered up to Flint and the two seemed to argue about something, until Silver came to stand next to Flint, effectively ending their discussion.

“So,” Milo asked Billy when the man joined them on the upper gun deck, “what’s going on now?”

“There’s a slight disagreement,” the first mate answered.

“A disagreement,” Evelyn repeated blandly, staring at the men below them as they shrugged out of their coats, “about what?”

Billy shrugged. “We have one fleet, and two men claiming it,” he said. “There is only one way to resolve that.” And when Evelyn gave him a blank stare in response, he clarified: “Pistols, then swords.”

“A duel?” she asked, frowning in horror. “Are you kidding me? That is-”

“-such an honorable way to resolve this,” Curtis quickly cut in, with meaningful tilt of his eyebrow.

“Because of a disagreement?” Evelyn exclaimed. “That’s bullshit!”

“Well, it’s what people _do_ in this century,” Curtis snidely repeated her words back to her.

She let out a frustrated groan in response. “And again: fuck you, Curtis.”

“Guys, come on. Behave yourselves,” Milo told them, staring down over the rails at Flint and Blackbeard, who were now choosing their pistols. “Seriously, you two. Would you like me to get _you_ some pistols so you two can duel this out as well?”

“That would be a total waste of ammunition,” Evelyn scoffed sarcastically, “the bullets would just bounce off his thick skull anyway.”

“Hey Billy,” Milo spoke up, quickly diffusing the next argument between Evelyn and Curtis before it could even start, “what happens if Flint loses?”

“If he loses, he dies.” Billy deadpanned.

Evelyn snorted in amusement, and it earned her a sharp look from her tall friend. “Yah, thanks. That part was pretty clear,” Milo said, “What I meant was, what will happen to us?”

“I don't know,” Billy shrugged. “We’ll probably be given a chance to join the fleet, fold in, and go back on the account.”

“Join the crew of Blackbeard? Why would we do that?”

“Where would you go if you didn’t?” Billy retorted.

“Hell, most likely,” Evelyn quipped drily. “Anyway, Flint never asked us to be part of this crew. So if Blackbeard actually gives us a choice, then that would be a step up, if you ask me.”

“Well, nobody _did_ ask you.”

“And fuck you too, Milo.”

“Shhh!” Curtis shushed them, “they’re starting.”

The four of them stopped talking and turned their gazes towards the main deck, as one of Flint’s men stepped forward to start going through the proceedings. “This is a matter of honor, to be settled once and for good in the here and now. The parties have agreed to combat and have accepted common practice. The parties have further agreed there will be no quarter asked nor given.”

They all watched in pressing silence as Flint calmly picked up his pistol and stepped forward, curling his fingers around the cold hard steel of the firearm.

“Cock your pistols! From this moment, there's to be no movement until a count of three.”

There was complete and utter stillness on both sides. If hatred could turn into something visible, than the air would probably have turned a dark deep ruby red. The bright sunlight reflected perversely off the gleaming barrel of the revolver as Flint calmly raised his weapon and aimed it directly at Blackbeard’s head. At the other side of the deck, Teach did the very same, and Evelyn’s gaze flicked back and forth between them, unsure which of these two pirate captains she preferred to win this duel.

The man started to count down from three, and in that suspended moment where she watched Flint pull the trigger, Evelyn could actually feel her heart stutter inside of her chest. She flinched as the gunshot cracked in the air, loud and violent in the pressing silence that had fallen upon the main deck. It intensified the feeling of her own mortality, while she stared down in absolute horror as the bullet hit Teach, and propelled him backwards.

It went eerily quiet on deck. No-one dared to make a sound, or even take a breath. They all simply stood by and watched as Captain Blackbeard’s body went limp, and crumbled onto the floor like a puppet suddenly released of its strings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, thank you so much for all the love on my last few chapters! It makes me ridiculously happy to get this many comments on this. This story is taking a lot of hard work and dedication and it’s honestly starting to fry my brain, but the feedback so far is making me believe it may just be worth that. <3 <3 <3


	22. Chapter 22

_September 1715, Flint vs. Blackbeard_

* * *

Edward Teach laid sprawled out across the floorboards of the main deck, arms spread to the sides and palms facing upwards. Flint frowned as he stared at the unmoving man, whose body laid only a few feet away from him. Though his shot had been expertly fast and clearly well-aimed, this quick and easy victory left him with a bitter aftertaste. It seemed too easy, almost anticlimactic. He looked up, his gaze travelling across both crews that stood around to watch, and then frowned again when he noticed Evelyn standing at the railings of the upper gun deck, tucked in safely between her two friends, her face pale and her eyes wide with horror.

He lowered his weapon, sighing in frustration. The woman was supposed to be inside her cabin, hidden away from prying eyes and possible danger. Hadn’t he as much as ordered her to do so? But then again, he realized, nothing about Evelyn had ever suggested her to be of the obedient sort. So it really shouldn’t be such a surprise to him that she was exactly not where he had told her to be.

A sudden groan from the other side of the deck made his eyes flick back to Teach. And he scowled when he noticed the man starting to stir, his movements sluggish and slow as he picked himself up from the floor, and muttering some creative profanities while he did. Blackbeard stood up, rose himself to his impressive full height and brought up a hand to touch his right ear, snarling when his fingers came back crimson and sticky with blood.

The bullet had merely grazed his right ear. It had chopped away a small chunk of flesh there, and he would not be hearing much else than that sharp and piercing ring on that side for a long while, but he was still very much alive and breathing. If Flint had aimed the shot about a quarter of an inch more to the right, then this moment would undoubtedly have gone into history as the day that Captain Blackbeard had kicked the bucket.

Today, however, was not that day, and a loud and victorious roar arose from the men that stood on Blackbeard’s side of the deck. Their captain still drew breath, and that meant that this duel wasn’t over just yet. Teach turned and spread his arms out with a flourish, giving his audience a small and grateful bow, before turning around to face his opponent once more.

Flint licked his lips and made brief eye contact with Teach, narrowing his eyes when the man smirked at him with a smug look on his face. In response, Flint proceeded to unsheathe his cutlass from its casing that was strapped at his hip, and took his opening position; feet planted firmly at the ground in a wide stance, legs slightly bent at the knees.

On the other side of the deck, Teach mirrored his actions, slowly pulling out his own edged sword and holding it straight, perfectly aligned with his sizeable nose. “You know Nassau is gone,” he said, as he and Flint started circling each other, “taken by British invasion. We are all finally free from it.”

Flint cracked a smile at Teach, carefully making sure to keep eye contact with the man, and it seemed to do the trick; for a brief moment he could see hesitation clouding the man’s eyes. But then Blackbeard attacked, fast and without warning. The man began descending heavy blows upon Flint with a mad, brutal force. There was so much power in his blows, it seemed that he meant to smash Flint into the very planks of the deck they were standing on.

Luckily, Flint was a skilled swordsman as well, and he sidestepped the man’s first few strikes, meeting the last with his own cutlass. Their swords clashed heavily, and Flint’s blade quivered under the ferocity of Blackbeard’s remarkable strength. “You let it go well before its time,” Flint sneered, and then pushed back against Teach with full force, their swords complaining with a loud and heavy clang as the blades disentangled violently.

Parrying Blackbeard’s next movements, Flint ducked to the side, and swung out his own sword, missing the man’s side by only an inch. The blade struck close enough to cut through fabric but it did not reach actual flesh, and Teach managed to throw him another arrogant smirk, clearly satisfied with his own smooth dodge. “It was _past_ its time. That you cannot see this only makes it clearer to me that you never even knew it in the first place. This fleet is all that remains of it, and as long as it's mine, Nassau shall remain in its past.”

Flint panted, staring intently at his opponent. Perhaps Vane had been right; perhaps Teach wasn’t as vulnerable as he had expected. And, perhaps, he had bitten off more than he could chew. They circled around each other for a moment, both breathing heavily, swords still raised and at the ready. “That decision isn't yours. It never was,” Flint said, as he gestured towards Charles Vane, “it’s his.”

Teach snarled at him and with the next sudden, violent swing from his sword, knocked Flint down to the ground, his cutlass clattering across the floor. Teach grinned again, the arched blade of his cutlass flashing brightly in the sweltering sun as he brought it up over his head, and a low hum droned out when he brought his sword down fast.

He missed, and Blackbeard seemed surprised when his blade only cut away splinters of wood of the deck as his opponent rolled away and quickly scurried to the left to retrieve his blade and get back up again. Flint’s movements were too slow however, and Teach swung around to strike at him again. The blade cut the fabric of his shirt and Flint hissed as it sliced hotly through his upper arm. Staggering back slightly, he held his sword even, a perfect straight horizon, to stall the man’s next strike, and then quickly changed tactics. He darted sideways, using Blackbeard’s own strength against him and leaving an empty space for the man’s own force to knock him off balance.

The man stumbled, and Flint swung his sword at him quickly and repeatedly, allowing Teach no time to recharge. The first two strikes missed poorly, but the third, a backhanded swing off the one before it, found flesh. The sharp, edged sword easily ate through the skin of his opponent’s leg, and Blackbeard faltered and dropped to a knee, his sword hand falling to the deck to support himself.

Instantly, Flint put his blade to the man’s neck to prevent him from retrieving his cutlass. Teach tried reaching forward to pick up his sword, but stopped short when he felt the sword-point prick his throat, drawing a drop of blood. The two men stared each other down, both panting heavily and snarling at each other like savage dogs, as Flint took a more firm hold of his sword with both hands, readying it to run the man through and finish this fight once and for all.

“Wait!” a deep baritone voice cut through the pressing silence, freezing Flint’s movements.

Charles Vane stepped forward and into the battle ring that was the upper deck of the Walrus, his hands up in front of him, palms facing outward. “It’s true,” he said, “that this fleet and the decision to take it away from Nassau was never his. I gave you my word, shook your hand, and pledged to defend the island with you.” He stopped a few feet away from the two men, staring intently at Teach – his old friend and mentor – and then raised his gaze to Flint. “But you weren’t there. You didn’t see their faces, the ones who laid down their arms and turned their backs on us. The ones who took our money for months and were happy to try and deliver my head to our enemies for a little more of it.” He folded his arms across his imposing chest and gave Flint a rigid stare. “Nassau is dead. Governor Woodes Rogers holds the town with a full company of British regulars. He holds the harbor with a small navy. And he holds the men on the streets with his pardons.”

Flint shook his head. “That good new governor has an inoperative fort,” he responded sharply, not taking his eyes off Teach, “he holds responsibility for an administrative nightmare that isn't going away just because he wants it to, and an island full of hunters that may be placated for now, but could be awoken. That _I_ could awaken,” he finished passionately.

“And how would you see this done?” Teach sneered at him, and it was quite impressive how the man still managed to look threatening, even as he sat kneeling down, defeated and at sword-point.

Flint gave Teach a sharp look, his blade still resting against the man’s neck, before moving his gaze to Vane. “Rogers may hold the island for now,” he stated calmly, “but it still needs supplies brought in, and it is still dependent upon trade.”

Teach snorted, which earned him another dark look from Flint, the cutlass pressing into his neck once more. “We can make that impossible for him,” Flint continued, “we will harass his ships, we will plunder his supplies. We will force him to bleed capital and support and the goodwill of the men surrounding him until he is weak enough to challenge directly. Until we can bring the fleet to bear and retake the bay.” He brought his gaze back to Vane. “If we resume our compact, the one we swore upon our lives to uphold, if _you_ stand up and acknowledge it, this fleet will follow us. I'm certain of it.”

Charles Vane narrowed his eyes as he seemed to consider it for a moment, his gaze still focused on Teach. Then, he raised his head and looked at Flint, dipping his chin in agreement. “I will uphold the oath, and fight with you to reclaim our home,” he said, and then jerked his head towards Blackbeard, who was snarling again, clearly not amused with the direction this conversation was going. “But he walks free,” he told Flint staring at him intently, “and that is not negotiable.”

“Very well,” Flint agreed easily, as if a minute ago he hadn’t been planning to run the man through with his sword to end his life. He turned his attention back to Teach. “If you wish to leave, I'll allow you one ship and a crew to sail it,” Flint told him as he removed his sword from the man’s neck and extended a hand towards him, “but I would rather see you join us instead.”

There was long, tense moment where Blackbeard merely stared at the hand that Flint offered him, his dark eyes full of ominous threat and his jaw clenching as he gritted his teeth. But then he shook his head and grinned broadly, reaching out and clasping his hand around Flint’s, and then pulling himself up from the floor. “Pour me another drink,” he grumbled, “and I’ll consider it!”


	23. Chapter 23

_September 1715, a Pirate Conclave_

* * *

Milo’s face was set with sheer determination as he gradually made his way through the orlop down below. He walked slowly, almost leisurely, with his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his breeches, his trusty leather pouch swung across his right shoulder, and a pack of clean linens tucked underneath his arm. To the outside world he appeared completely at ease, but a nerve twitching involuntarily at the corner of his right eye as he stared ahead, and his mouth was set in a rigid grimace.

The ship’s lower decks were as devoid of beauty as he was of confidence. The walls of rotting wooden planks were bare, with only a few small shafts of light streaming through the jagged edged gaps. Dust swirled and danced in those white beams of sunshine, and Milo narrowed his eyes when he noticed a mouse scurrying amidst the dirt that covered the creaking floorboards. At the end of the orlop, a narrow ladder was all that lead up to the gallery, and as he started to climb it, apprehension travelled through Milo’s veins. He wasn’t going to allow anyone to notice it in his facial muscles or his skin however, and by the time he reached the captain’s cabin, his complexion was smooth and matt, and his eyes were as steady as if he were merely taking a relaxing afternoon walk.

A million reasons not to do this came flooding in when he stood at the door, listening to the low murmur of voices on the other side of it. He willed his doubts away, and took a deep breath before he shortly rapped his knuckles against the door, and then pushed it open. Pausing at the entrance for a moment, he let his gaze travel through the room before anyone noticed his presence. He knew he had to go in, but at least this way his mind had a few moments longer to prepare.

It was crowded inside the captain’s quarters. Charles Vane stood next to Billy Bones near the desk that was placed in the middle of the room. Teach sat in one of the chairs right next to the table, scowling as he held a hand to his bloodied thigh. Captain Flint sat behind his desk, lounging back in his chair and rubbing his beard pensively as he stared at the men that stood gathered around his cabin. Behind him, John Silver was reclining against the window seat, his arms crossed in front of his chest and an irritated glare on his face.

The quartermaster looked up as soon as he noticed Milo standing in the doorway. “Mr. Evans,” he called him into the room, “thank you for joining us.” Silver pointed towards Teach. “Would you please be so kind to stop this man from bleeding all over the captain’s floor?” Blackbeard snarled at the man in answer, but Silver choose to ignore it, and kept his gaze on Milo, who gave him a tight nod in response.

Milo sauntered into the room, involuntarily straightening his back as he felt the gazes of every single man in the room lock onto him. He moved towards the dresser that stood behind Blackbeard, and let out an understated sigh as he turned to drop his leather sack onto it, deliberately showing them wasn't afraid to turn his back.

The men remained quiet for a moment as they stared at Milo while he started to unpack his pouch, but then Charles Vane bluntly broke the silence: “Who’s he?”

“New surgeon,” Silver answered. “We picked him up from a merchant ship a few weeks ago.”

“Got ourselves a new cook as well, by the way,” Billy said, as he reached over to pick up the bottle of rum that stood on the table before him, and then glared at Vane as he handed it to Milo. “You know, since you murdered our last.”

Milo took the bottle from the first mate, and risked a quick look over his shoulder towards Vane to see the man’s response. He turned back around, choosing to remain quiet as he proceeded to spread out the tools and the supplies that he needed to clean and suture the wound on Blackbeard’s leg.

Charles Vane was wise enough not to dignify the first mate’s angry jibe with a response however. He merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Billy, and gave the man a blank stare, before turning his attention towards Flint. “And the woman?” he asked the captain.

“Leverage,” was Flint’s only answer, with a meaningful jerk of his head towards Milo, to which Vane gave an understanding nod.

Narrowing his eyes at Flint’s answer, Milo turned back towards Teach and kneeled down next to him, carefully inspecting the wound on the man’s thigh. It turned out that Blackbeard was one lucky bastard; the cut was deep and high up on his leg, and if Flint had sliced his sword only a few inches deeper, it would’ve nicked the femoral artery and Blackbeard would be no more. No amount of sutures would have been able to prevent him from bleeding to death. Milo sighed, and shook his head dejectedly, freezing when he looked up to find the man’s dark eyes on him.

“Well,” Teach said to him with a bold and intimidating voice, “how bad is it?” His face was mostly obscured by his black scraggly beard, but his eyes twinkled and he let out a baleful cackle from behind his chipped teeth as he continued to stare at Milo. “Did that redhaired devil finally get me?”

Milo shook his head again. “Not this time,” he said, not bothering to hide the sound of disappointment from his voice. Teach grinned, and tilted a sardonic eyebrow at him at that. He didn’t call him out on it though, and Milo quickly cleared his throat and continued: “the cut is deep enough to need stitches, but the blade didn’t go through any vital arteries.”

The raven-haired pirate gave him a nod. “Get on with it then,” he told him with a dismissive wave, before focusing his attention back to the other men in the room.

Trying his best to ignore the tension in the room, Milo turned to pick up a clean cloth, before dousing it with alcohol and then carefully dabbing it against the skin that surrounded Blackbeard’s wound. When the area around the cut was thoroughly cleaned, he reached for the needle, grimacing as he disinfected it with the alcohol. He didn’t have any anesthetic so this was going to be a painful affair, even for a man as tough as Blackbeard. Pinching the edges of the wound together, he looked up at Teach. “This is going to hurt,” he warned him. And when he simply scoffed in return, Milo jabbed the needle into the man’s skin without any travail. Teach clenched his jaw, but other than that he didn’t even flinch as Milo pushed the needle deep enough through the skin, and then twisted it upwards until it came back up on the other side of the wound.

“So, you wish to use this fleet to overthrow Rogers and reclaim Nassau,” Teach said to Flint, his dark voice booming without waver as he picked up the discussion again. “Tell me then, that you have a plan, and that Charles here did not grant you our ships and its commanders for nothing.”

For a moment, Milo could only stare at him in complete awe. He was suturing the man’s wound without any sort of sedation, and he appeared completely unfazed by it. It seemed that Captain Blackbeard definitely deserved his image as the most tough and fearless pirate. Milo could almost believe that, had Flint’s shot been better aimed during their altercation on deck earlier that day, Teach probably would’ve caught the bullet with his teeth and then spat it back out again.

“I know that you expect me to convince you to follow me blindly, that Nassau is our home, and that I am the only one capable in leading us in this war to free it.” Flint’s voice sounded tired, almost bored. “But let's be honest: you don't trust me at all, and I don’t care much for you either.”

Teach let out an amused chuckle, as Milo finished another stitch by creating a simple overhand knot that lay flat against the now pulled together tissue of his wound. “You are still that same strong-willed and self-assured prick you’ve always been, I give you that. But if that is all you can offer, then I fear this war of yours will end before it can even begin.”

The other men were awfully quiet, Milo noticed, as he carefully closed the second throw of his suture. Billy had all but shrunk away into the shadows, leaning back against the wall on the right side of the cabin. Silver had retaken his seat at the windows, had reclaimed the rum, and had begun to quietly throw back the liquor straight from the bottle. And Vane was now sitting down at well, and lazily hung back in his chair with one leg dangling casually over the armrest, as he lit up a cigar and then quietly stared at the smoke that curled up into the air in an almost artistical way.

“Then let us assume that I can offer you something better,” Flint answered Teach. “We are all painfully aware that England takes whatever, whenever, and however it wants. It has taken from me: my friends, my life, my home. And I imagine that it has taken things from you as well. If we stand back and do nothing, it will come for more.”

“Are you suggesting that we can prevent England from taking these things from us?” said Teach, and the doubtful tone of his voice told everyone how much he believed that statement.

“No,” Flint answered plainly, locking eyes with him. “I am suggesting that we help each other to start taking things back, starting with Nassau.”

Captain Blackbeard nodded slowly at that, a pensive look on his face as he mulled it over. His gaze fell to Milo as he neatly finished off the last surgeon’s knot with another double, overhand knot. “You certainly have gifted hands, doctor,” he said as he ran a finger over the neat row of stitches with an approving look on his face.

Milo gave the man a simple nod in answer and then looked towards Silver, who almost jumped at the mention of him. Clearly, the quartermaster had only now remembered that Milo was still in the room, and Milo quickly hid an amused grin as he started cleaning up his supplies.

“Ah … yes,” Silver said, getting up and hobbling his way over to Milo. “Thank you, Mr. Evans, for your assistance.” He leveled him with a meaningful stare. “Please,” he said as he pulled the door open, “don’t let us keep you any longer.”

Knowing full well that he was being dismissed, Milo cracked a contemptuous little smile at the quartermaster, but then dutifully turned and bade the men in the room goodnight.

“I must admit, Mr. Evans,” Teach spoke up as he looked at him, “these stitches look better than anything my surgeon has ever done.” He raised his cup to him in a toast. “If you ever feel unappreciated within Captain Flint’s crew, know that you are most welcome aboard the Revenge.”

Smiling politely in return, Milo dipped his head in thanks, secretly a little proud at the fact the Captain _effing_ Blackbeard knew him by name now, and that he thought him good enough to join his crew.

“You can wipe that smug grin off your face now,” Silver told him sternly when he closed the door behind them, and left them standing alone in the empty gallery. He stepped forward, invading Milo’s space, and nearly coming chest to chest with him. “You will not be any more safe with Teach, nor with Vane. And you and both of your companions will be wise to remember this.”

Milo merely stared at Silver for a moment, and then gave him a mocking smile. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he told him calmly, “but now you have certainly peaked my curiosity.” He cocked his head to the side and hoisted his bag further up his shoulder. “Are you afraid for your position, now that Vane and Blackbeard have joined Flint, quartermaster?”

Silver stepped back instantly, swallowing thickly and then shaking his head determinedly. “I am not-”

The door of the captain’s office opened, effectively ending their conversation, and Milo gave Silver another disdainful grin as Vane and Blackbeard stepped into the gallery, with Teach leaning heavily on Charles Vane, trying to keep the weight of his wounded leg. Billy and Flint followed shortly behind them, and the minute Flint stepped into the gallery, Charles Vane gave him a hard stare, and jerked his head towards the gallery door, as he stepped up the stairs that led up to the quarterdeck. Flint nodded shortly and quietly followed Vane out the door. Billy seemed glad that the meeting had ended, and the first mate disappeared down below without another word or even a backwards glance at anyone.

Blackbeard started to grin broadly when he noticed Milo still standing in the gallery, the look on his face cheerful, as if he was meeting an old friend. “Mr. Evans!” he boomed buoyantly, beckoning him, “help me up these stairs, would you?”

“Sure, of course,” Milo said easily, walking up to him and cringing when the large man threw a heavy arm around his bony shoulders. He gave Blackbeard an uncomfortable little smile and then turned his gaze to Silver, just in time to catch the man’s dark look of warning.

Teach turned and followed his gaze. “I’m sure your quartermaster here has no objections to you helping out a fellow cripple,” He tilted one of his ink black eyebrows at Silver, who merely dipped his chin in return and then moved out of the way to let them through. And once again, Milo couldn’t help but feel a little proud at the fact that Blackbeard knew his name, and apparently didn’t even care to learn Silver’s.

With another condescending glare at the quartermaster, Teach let out a pleased chuckle, and then started steering Milo towards the quarterdeck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. God. Thank you guys (girls?) so much for all your lovely comments! It really helps and encourages me to keep this up. Seriously, you have no idea how happy it makes me to see that people love this as much as I do. I know I've been slow with new uploads. I really am trying to do better, but work, life and broken laptops have not been working in my favor lately.  
>  **anubis347, KatySilver, Lola and Oltramare:** your names always pop up in my inbox after I post a new chapter. Thank you for being such loyal and appreciative commenters!  
>  **Vicks82:** you are actually always the first one to comment. You're sort of obligated to, as my best friend, but thanks for doing your job so well. ;-) Love you babe!  
>  **Lux:** Charles Vane was always my favorite as well. That man did not get the appreciation he deserved, imho. Thanks for your lovely comments.  
>  **Anna:** really?! You only just started watching?! Boy, are you in for a treat! I'm glad that you happened to stumble across my story here, but I feel I should warn you ... if you're still watching the show, then there's some major spoilers in here! ;-)  
>  **felcitysmoak:** Welcome back! You have been missed in the comment section, my dear.


	24. Chapter 24

_September 1715, in Flint’s cabin_

* * *

As he stood in front of the large windows of his cabin, Captain Flint silently took in the sight of the waves that reflected the garish pale moonlight, his mind going back to the conversation he had shared with Charles Vane earlier that night. The man had told him how, before they had run into the Walrus, he and Teach had come upon a Spanish prize, which had brought them a significant trove of information.

_“Money separated from the Urca gold within the fort and rendered into a new form. A cache of gems for which Spain is holding the new governor accountable. A cache which, if used creatively, could be the key to defeating British forces in Nassau.”_

Vane’s words kept echoing through his head. The gold was still on the island! The only question was, would they be able to find it before the Governor did? And would this fleet – would Teach – continue to follow him in his quest to liberate Nassau, if they knew how slim their chances were? Would this alliance hold long enough?

It was far from ideal, but knowing what his chances would be otherwise, Flint was not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He had cast aside the morals and principles that were expected of a good man long ago. Captain Flint wasn’t a good man. Besides, he found the standards as set by propriety trivial and far too tedious for his liking. He would get what he wanted by simply taking it, in whichever way he deemed necessary.

Behind him, he heard the door of his cabin open and then close again, its wood creaking tiredly with service. He didn’t turn around, still too lost in his dark and sinister musings. He expected it to be John Silver who had come to visit him, to complain to him about Edward Teach, and the man’s blatant disregard of the quartermaster. But he was pleasantly surprised when, instead of Silver’s whining baritone, a woman’s voice suddenly carried through the room.

“Aw, shit,” came Evelyn’s startled voice from the doorway. “I didn’t think you’d be here. I just came in to borrow another book.” She was quiet for a moment, as if waiting for him to respond, and when he didn’t, she added: “never mind. I can come back later.”

“No please,” he said, just a she reached for the door handle. “Go ahead,” he gestured a hand towards his book shelves, before turning his gaze back towards the windows again.

Silence fell back onto the room, and he almost thought that she had left the cabin again, but then he heard her footsteps as she moved closer, and he could see the image of her reflected in the glass of the windows before him. Evelyn seemed to be considering him for a moment, before she headed towards the shelves, and carefully placed the heavy tome she’d been carrying back in between two other books. He watched her tilt her head to the side to read the titles of the books as she ran a delicate finger along the spines, and then moved his gaze back towards the outside world again.

“Hey,” the sound of her voice suddenly came from right next to him, and Flint almost jumped in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed that she had walked up to him. “Are you alright?” she asked him, narrowing her eyes as she studied him.

Flint frowned at the question, and turned his head to scowl down at her. He was in no mood for feigned sympathies or one of her sassy, sarcastic quips at the moment.

His foul mood didn’t seem to deter her though, and she stubbornly stepped closer, her sharp stare unwavering. “You’re bleeding,” she stated, her gaze falling to the angry cut on his arm, curtesy of one Captain Blackbeard.

“It’s nothing,” Flint mumbled gruffly, moving to step away from her. But then she raised a hesitant hand, and he froze when she gently brushed her fingertips onto his skin, and carefully trailed the digits along the sharp edges of the gash on his biceps. Her touch was featherlight; soft and careful – almost as if she was afraid that she would hurt him, or perhaps that he would hurt her. He had been determined to stay cold and indifferent, but then he felt her fingers graze his skin. It was just a small, hesitant brush of her fingertips against his upper arm, but something not only roused within him, it completely engulfed his senses. Everything around him shifted into an unimportant haze and all that he could focus on was her touch, and how the warmth of it seeped into his skin and began to spread throughout his entire body.

It had been a long time since someone had last regarded him with kindness. And it had been even longer since someone had touched him this gently, and with such tenderness. He let out a deep breath, angling his head to watch her wrinkle her brow in concentration as she examined the cut on his arm. “It’s not that deep, but you should probably have it cleaned and dressed to avoid infection,” she said seriously, pursing her lips in contemplation, and blissfully unaware of the internal battle her touch had just unleashed within him. She looked up at him with sincere eyes, a sympathetic smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll ask Milo to take a look at it,” she said, as she lifted her hand from his arm and then turned to move towards the door.

He grimaced at the loss of warmth against his skin and instinctively reached out, taking hold of her wrist to stop her from going anywhere. She tensed up immediately at his touch. “I’m fine,” he told her, keeping the tone of his voice deliberately soft as not to scare her away. He loosened his grip on her wrist, relieved when he felt her relax slightly. “Let’s not disturb Mr. Evans for something as trivial as this.”

Evelyn considered him for a moment, as if pondering over a decision. Then she nodded her head, and slowly pulled her hand away. “Alright,” she said resolutely, “then I’ll do it.” She walked over to one of the cabinets that stood against the wall. “Sit,” she ordered him over her shoulder, “and take off that shirt.” She picked up a bottle of rum, and started rummaging through the cabinet drawers in search of some clean linens.

Flint gave her a hard stare at the command – a look that sent normal people running for cover. Evelyn however, merely met his gaze head-on and granted him an unimpressed look in return. She was entirely her own person, but the way she looked at him just now, with mild annoyance shadowing those green eyes rather than fear – it reminded him so much of Miranda that he mutely obeyed, sitting down in his chair and slipping his arm from his sleeve before pulling the shirt up and over his head.

Swiftly uncorking the bottle of rum as she moved to stand behind him, Evelyn soaked a clean cloth with the liquor. Then, she reached out and gently placed her hand on his shoulder, lightly dabbing the skin with the gauze. “So, she said, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully cleaned the area around the wound on his upper arm, “I take it that we’re no longer heading for Nassau, after today?” She put down the now reddened cloth and picked up a new one, dousing it with the alcohol as well, before continuing to clean his wound. And once again, Flint found himself stunned by the gentleness of her touch.

He cleared his throat when he noticed her staring at him expectantly. “Uhm, no,” he stated, “no, we’re to set sail for Ocracoke island. Teach has established a camp there. We will reorganize, and discuss further strategies there.”

Evelyn nodded, grabbing the small basin of water that stood on the dresser behind her, and he felt her breath tickling his bare shoulder as she reached over to set it down on the table in front of him. The heath of it lingered on his neck, and he frowned at the unexpected tingle it sent down his spine. “Ocracoke?” she repeated with a small frown, “where’s that?”

“Up north,” he said, picking up the rum and taking a large swig directly from the bottle, “but we will stop off in Newport first, to refit, before we join Teach in Ocracoke.” He studied her as she picked up another clean piece of cloth, drenched it in the water and then pressed it firmly against the wound.

She gave him a regretful glance when he hissed sharply at the painful sting at his arm, but continued to thoroughly rinse the wound. “This morning,” she spoke up suddenly, and without taking her eyes of her work, “what was that about? Are you really that interested in my opinion of you?”

He nodded and looked away from her expressive eyes, not wanting to see the judgement in there. “I know that the King has branded me a criminal,” he stated quietly. “What about you? Do you see me as the villain as well?” He looked down at his arm and ran his fingers across the scars there. All the choices that he had made stayed with him like the blemishes on his skin, marred and ugly, and serving as a constant reminder of all his past misdoings. What _did_ she think of him? Did she think him a monster as well, as so many others did?

“Why does that even matter?” she asked him, instead of giving an actual answer, and she shrugged when he looked back up at her. “What I think, or what anyone else thinks for that matter. Why do you care so much about what people think of you?”

“Because they don’t know me. They don’t know my story,” he told her grimly. “They _made_ me the villain, they defined me without knowing my definition!”

“That’s what you’re upset about?” Evelyn asked in complete disbelief, halting her work for a moment. “The fact that anyone would dare to put a label on you?”

“Beg your pardon?” He was taken aback by her reaction.

“I mean..” she started, “isn’t that something we all do? Don’t we all classify the people in our lives?” Evelyn shrugged, and stepped back around him to rinse her cloth in the water again. “We put everyone into a certain category, like ‘civilized’, or ‘callous’, or even ‘villain’. We’re all biased, it’s in our nature.” She leaned forward, and there was an accusing look in her eyes when she stared down at him. “You are guilty of it yourself, captain. You believe that your own crew is beneath you, that you are so much better, and so much smarter than all of them. They are fools, idiots, deserving of whatever poor faith may come to them, because they refuse to listen to you.” She gave him another hard stare, before pressing the wet cloth against his wound again. “So yeah, I’m a little confused why you are so insulted when you get treated _exactly_ the same way as you treat others.”

He let out a surprised breath, stunned into silence for moment. And not even because the woman made such a fair point – which she really did – but because of the way she had so freely and eloquently put him in his place just now. “I suppose you have a point,” he told her reluctantly. “Yet it angers me that, eventually, people will believe it. They will believe that we are only as complex as that one definition that’s been laid upon us. England makes everyone believe that we are lacking the parts that don’t fit in their classification.” He shook his head and looked at Evelyn with honest eyes. “It is easy to manipulate the truth, and even easier to make bad decisions based on partial evidence. People will remain to be puppets to England, unless someone shows them how to get their own free will back.”

“Right,” she let out an incredulous huff. “And if anyone refuses to learn, then you’ll beat it into them by force, like you did with Blackbeard earlier today. How does that make you any better?”

“I take it you don’t approve of dueling then,” Flint said, an amused smile tugging at his lips when she gave him a cynical stare. He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll admit that it is a crude method, but it works.” His flat statement actually made her chuckle despite herself, and it sent a tremor of pride through him, to realize that he was the cause of that happy sound.

She was still smiling when she dipped a clean piece of linen in the water. “Hold this,” she said, pressing the material tightly against his wound. His hand covered hers shortly when he smoothed his fingers over the bandage, and she briefly met his eyes, before she reached out to pick up another strip of linen. Evelyn wrapped it expertly around his biceps, and after securing it neatly, she leaned back and considered it proudly, clearly satisfied with her handiwork. “Well, there you go.”

Flint smirked at the almost childlike pride in her voice. “Thank you,” he told her sincerely, taking his shirt when she handed it to him, and pulling it back on over his head.

“Sure,” she said dismissively, moving to put back the supplies she had used.

He stopped her by placing a hand on her arm before she could reach for the bottle of rum. “A nightcap, perhaps?” he asked her kindly, jerking his head towards the bottle. “It seems like you could use one.”

She let out another good-natured chuckle at that. “Thanks,” she said in an amused voice. “I’m dead tired though.” She yawned, closed her eyes, and placed her hands at her back as she shamelessly stretched herself. “So, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to take my book and go.”

“Of course,” he answered dejectedly. “Another time then. Goodnight, miss Clarkson.”

She barely even looked at him when she picked up her book and moved towards the cabin’s exit. And with a soft “night”, she was out the door.

He still sat staring at the door long after she’d disappeared through it, before picking up the bottle of rum and gulping down another large swig. He didn’t quite understand, but for some reason he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to her.

For so many years his thoughts had been overrun by his plans for revenge. After his banishment from London, he hadn’t allowed anything or anyone else in; nothing would deter him from his goals. Although, he supposed, he did have Silver now. And he used to have Gates, until that all went to shit. But now, this woman – Evelyn, had barged into his life and sneaked her way into his mind, and continued to linger as if she belonged there.

She had made his blood boil with anger, in the way she challenged him, and opposed him, and simply refused to obey him. But just now – only moments ago, she had stood right next to him, and looked at him with fearless eyes, and touched him with gentle fingers and, somehow, it had eased that suffocating weight on his shoulders, and he felt like he could finally breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew ... well, there you go. For me personally, this is one of the best chapters. I so much enjoy the reluctant chemistry between these two.  
> Hope you do too! Let me know? As always: thank you for reading! ♥


	25. Chapter 25

_September 1715, inside Evelyn’s cabin_

* * *

Evelyn kicked the door closed behind her, blindingly dropping her book onto the table as she walked on dead feet towards the back of her cabin and then sat down near the large windows. She took in a deep shuddering breath, and gazed out towards the dark waves of the ocean. Her nerves were frayed, her heart still hammering a mile a minute inside of her chest and her fingers were unsteady when she reached up to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

Shit, what the hell was _wrong_ with her!?

A few hours ago, when she had strolled into Flint’s cabin, she had felt completely confident and at ease. Which was mostly because she hadn’t expected him to be there. Of course she knew that it wasn’t called the _captain’s_ cabin for no reason, but she had thought that Flint was still up on the quarterdeck, where she’d seen him talking to Charles Vane earlier. It was why she had dared to walk in to his room so easily in the first place. So when she found him exactly where she hadn’t expected him to be, her first reaction had been to abort mission and double back as fast as she could.

But then she had looked at him. Like – _really_ looked at him. The way he had stood there, with that painful looking cut on his arm, and that impossibly sad look on his face. He had looked so utterly miserable that – of course – she just had to take pity on him, because that was just the sort of person that she was; a total, fucking moron who couldn’t ignore that piteous ‘kicked-puppy’ look that he had going on there.

And then he had taken off his shirt, and she had noticed that the captain was not a little puppy at all, but very much a grown man – and a rather handsome one at that – and now she couldn’t exactly _not_ think about that fact anymore and well, _fuck_ , why did she have to go in there in the first place?

She grabbed one of the pillows, held it to her face, and screamed out her frustrations into it. And then immediately froze when there came a sudden soft knock on her cabin’s door. “What?!” she snapped, removing the pillow from her face to glare a hole into the wood as if it was the cause of everything that was bad in her life.

The door to her cabin creaked open, and Evelyn let out a deep sigh of relief when Curtis popped his head around it to look at her. “Hey,” he whispered tentatively. He stepped aside and allowed Milo to step into the room as well. “Okay if we come in?”

Evelyn slumped her shoulders and gave them a reluctant little smile, the tension inside her deflating a bit at the sight of her friends. “That depends,” she answered tiredly. “Are you here to yell at me some more?” Because, Lord help her, she wasn’t in the mood for self-control right now, and if Curtis started yelling at her again, she might just literally bite his head off this time.

Curtis answered her with a small, rueful grin and a decisive shake of his head. “Of course not,” he assured her in a soft voice, and he quickly crossed the room to sit down next to her at the window seat.

Behind him, Milo softly closed the door and then leaned back against it, folding his arms across his chest as he did. He nodded his head at Curtis. “This guy knows that he was being a complete jackass back on deck today. Don’t ya, Curt?”

The man nodded in agreement, and then quirked his mouth in a resigned smile. “Yes. I’m really sorry about that. I got nervous…,” he paused, then shook his head and scoffed at himself. “No, that’s not the right word for it. I completely _lost it_ , and I took it out on you.” He let out a deep, long breath and looked at her with honest eyes, reaching out a hand to grab hold of hers. “Here’s the thing, kid; I am scared shitless. Absolutely terrified, actually. Because, I put us here. In serious, mortal danger. And I have no idea how to get us back out of it.”

Evelyn clutched his fingers a little tighter, finding comfort in the familiarity and the warmth of his hand. She frowned as she stared down at their intertwined hands. Curtis was a history professor, and that was a desk job, so his hands had always been perfectly soft and smooth, his fingernails clean and neatly manicured. These past few weeks however, her friend had been forced into doing a lot of manual labor aboard this ship, and now there were calluses and blemishes, and red welts from hard work and underneath his chipped nails there was dirt and grime that couldn’t be removed by simply washing his hands. “I’m sorry too, Curtis,” she told him. “I’m scared as well. And I can’t blame you for lashing out like you did. I know I am guilty of that myself as well.”

“Great,” Milo spoke up, happily nodding his head, “now that the two of you have made up, let’s talk shop.” He grinned broadly at both of them. “Because, today was totally shit, but we did just find our donor.” He combed a hand through his hair and pushed himself off the door. “Now all we have to do is take a few vials of his blood.” He sat down in the chair that stood closest to his two friends at the window seat, and propped his feet up on the table.

“Sure,” Curtis scoffed sarcastically, “that sounds easy enough. Especially since the man is sailing with Blackbeard, aboard the Man of War instead of the Walrus.”

Evelyn sat up straight, suddenly remembering her earlier conversation with the captain. “Actually,” she piped up, her confidence quickly growing again at the comforting presence of her two friends, “Flint just told me that the fleet is heading to Ocracoke Island, to regroup or whatever.”

“You were alone with that man again?” Curtis demanded.

“Orca-whatchamacallit?” Milo quickly intervened, before the two of them could get into another fight.

“Ocracoke,” Evelyn replied, wisely choosing to ignore Curtis’ question. She did give him a hard stare, before she continued though. “Some island up North.” She shrugged and then waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, we’re stopping off at Newport first, to stack up on supplies. And then after that, we’ll be joining Blackbeard at his camp on Ocracoke.”

“That’s perfect!” Milo exclaimed happily. “Seriously, this couldn’t’ve worked out better. We’re going to be close enough to Charles Vane to take what we need from him, _and_ we’re going to be back on land. That means that we can, you know, ‘poof’ ourselves back home again when we’re done.” He leaned back into his chair and folded his hands at the back of his head. “Newport is like, what, a two hour drive away from Boston?” he noted, once again the picture of smug nonchalance. “Dude, this is going to be so easy.”

Evelyn grinned at that familiar, natural ease that Milo always seemed to radiate, and it helped erase the last bits of tension that still lingered inside of her. She heard Curtis breathe out a deep sigh next to her, and she angled her head to look at him. “Hey, everything’s going to be fine,” she assured him, taking his hand again and squeezing his fingers gently. “We have to get through a few more days of suffering, but then we get to go back home.”

He nodded and smiled bravely, but Evelyn could see the apprehension in his eyes. Curtis hadn’t been exaggerating when he told her how scared he was, she realized as she studied him more closely. Her friend looked weary, and somehow older than his actual age. The lines beneath his eyes were more pronounced than ever, and there was a tightness to his mouth that had never been there before. Curtis sighed and disentangled his hand from hers, his knees cracking as he pushed himself up from his seat. “Okay,” he said, his voice unnaturally bright, “I’m off to bed then.” He gave both his friends a little wave and moved towards the exit. “Goodnight, you two. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night,” Evelyn replied evenly as she watched him go. She frowned as she watched him reach for the door handle, and then looked at Milo, who simply held two fingers to the side of his head in a silent salute towards his friend. She sighed after Curtis closed the door behind him. “I’m worried about him,” she told Milo pensively. “Did he seem … different, to you?”

“Curt’s fiiiine,” he answered lazily, drawing out the last word. He shrugged when she gave him a skeptical look in return. “He just worries a lot. It’s Curtis. It’s what he _does_.” Milo moved from his seat at the table and sank down on the other side of Evelyn. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her shoulder, and she sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture. It made hope start to bead back into her. She could feel it seeping back into her skin, comforting her very soul.

“I’m not so sure,” she stated pensively, turning her gaze back to Milo. “He seemed a little too impassive, too … resigned to me.”

Milo squeezed her shoulder gently. “He’ll be fine. It’s like you said; we just have to get through a few more days here, and then we all get to go home.”

She nodded, and then fell silent, quietly staring off into space. Her mind was blank, which was a strange occurrence. Normally her thoughts would be twisting and turning inside her head, like disembodied voices, constantly providing her with new views and ideas.

“So…,” Milo spoke up after a while, breaking the lingering silence. “Do you want to talk about it?” And when she only gave him a confused look in answer, he clarified: “this thing between you and Silver.” He hesitated for a moment. “And Flint.”

Evelyn wrinkled her nose at the mention of that man’s name, and avoided her friend’s gaze. The sigh that escaped her lips was slow, as if her mind needed time to process this question first. With her eyes still firmly fixed on the dusty floorboards, she resolutely shook her head. “Not really,” she said.

“Do you know what you're doing?” he asked, watching her pull her legs up onto the seat.

The look on her face was one of resignation and fatigue. It portrayed the end of deliberate effort and the beginning of passive submission. "Not really," she repeated dully as she curled herself up on the seat, resting her head on his lap. “Hey Milo?” she asked, closing her eyes when she felt his fingers gently brushing through her hair.

“Yeah?” Milo’s soothing voice came from somewhere above her.

“Will you stay here tonight, or at least until I fall asleep?”

“Sure, Evie.”

“Milo?” her voice was starting to sound slurry.

“Hmm?” Milo sounded tired too.

“Do you think everyone’s okay, back home?” _Would Jamie be okay?_

“Of course,” came his confident answer.

He couldn’t possibly know how everyone was doing back home, or whether that little boy was indeed alright, but Evelyn decided to accept her friend’s answer as the truth anyway. “Do you think we’ll get back to them in time?” she asked then. _Would Jamie be okay?_

“Of course,” Milo repeated assuredly. It was another poorly concealed lie, but he sounded so sure of himself that Evelyn could easily pretend that she believed him, and it helped her fall asleep a little easier.


	26. Chapter 26

_September 1715, off the coast of Newport_

* * *

The coastline of 1715 Newport was a thick line of white-gold sand, interrupted by a short jetty that stood on barnacle encrusted stilts. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun would soon begin to set, and above them the seagulls soared freely in the still blue skies, welcoming the approaching longboats with shrill cries. Evelyn smiled to herself as she stared ahead at Newport’s shoreline, feeling the rough wood of the boat through her cotton skirt when she shifted in her seat to dangle a hand into the clear ocean water. She closed her eyes, and listened to the waves as they rolled in at the beach with a soothing sound – the saltwater blending into the sand as the ocean met the land in a brief flurry.

Stealing a quick look over her shoulder, Evelyn tried to focus at the longboat that followed closely behind the one she was in. Curtis and Milo were in that other boat, and she locked eyes with each of them, giving them a nervous little smile as she did. They seemed just as anxious as she was about the fact that they were headed ashore. They would be on land again for the first time in a very long while and, even though the fact that their feet would be touching the actual earth again was something to look forward to on its own, it also meant that they would finally be able to use their devices.

For the first time in weeks, they had a very realistic chance of going back home again!

Of course they still needed to try and get away from this merry band of pirates first, and after that, they would need to find a place secure enough for them to open up a time portal without interruptions. Oh and they somehow needed to get close enough to Charles Vane as well, so they could take what they needed from him, before they could even consider making that time jump in the first place.

But still: home!

The boat bobbed and Evelyn felt herself surging forward at the unexpected movement, nearly causing her to crash straight into Captain Flint, who was sitting across from her. Silver quickly grabbed hold of her arm to help her keep her balance however, and she breathed out a happy sigh of relief, turning her head to smile at the quartermaster in thanks, and pointedly refusing to look in Flint’s direction. After that very confusing encounter in his cabin a few nights ago, she had deliberately been avoiding the captain again. And, judging from the inquisitive stares he kept throwing her as that they sat across from each other in the longboat, he had taken note – and disapproved – of her avoidance.

They steadily approached the coastline of Newport, and Evelyn’s heartrate picked up. She shifted in her seat in anticipation, eager to finally get off the water. Their boat knocked against the pier’s poles, and she waited impatiently as Flint stood up to grab hold of the wooden landing, and then pulled himself up and onto the jetty when he had a firm enough grip. Evelyn stared at him as he took the rope that Silver offered him to tie the boat to the mooring, and found herself momentarily mesmerized by the way his dark shirt contrasted with the skin of his forearms, and how his muscles moved beneath that freckled skin. She frowned at her own thoughts, then blinked, shook herself and quickly looked away, frustrated with herself for her own behavior. This quite literally wasn’t the right time for her to be distracted by a man!

Flint helped Silver up and out of the longboat first, and Evelyn took note of the quartermaster’s angry scowl at the fact that he needed the assistance. Silver turned around, and she quickly looked down and started gathering up her skirt to climb up onto the pier as well. The man was still very sensitive when it came to his handicap, she had learned, so it was probably wise not to let him catch her staring at him. She got up from her seat, and when she looked back up to the mooring, the captain was smiling down at her, and once again she was struck by the change that his smile brought to his face. It made him seem so much younger, and much more human, and-

-and she stopped her string of thoughts before she could embarrass herself even further. This man was a criminal. He was callous; other people’s feelings were of no concern to him unless he was directly impacted by them. He was a ruthless pirate, and a killer, and nothing more.

But her firm resolution could not stop the pleasant tingle that crept down her spine when Flint leaned forward – the ghost of that irresistible smile still on his lips – and extended a hand to her. She let out a shaky breath, scolded herself for being such an idiot, and deftly accepted his outstretched hand to let him assist her onto the landing.

The other longboat had reached the pier by now as well, and it gave Evelyn the perfect excuse to turn her back on both Flint and Silver. She watched Billy climb up and onto the pier, and smiled to herself when she noticed Curtis and Milo eagerly waiting behind as the first mate fastened their boat to the mooring. It didn’t take long for her two friends to get out of the boat as well, and Evelyn grinned broadly as she waited for the two of them to reach her. Until she noticed the look on their faces. “Guys?” she asked, dread creeping over her like an icy chill, “what’s wrong, what happened?”

“I dropped it,” Milo said, and his voice sounded utterly broken, “I dropped it in the water when we were climbing into the longboats.” He held up his trusty leather pouch, which was completely soaked, and steadily dripping saltwater onto the pier’s floorboards. “Everything is ruined. It’s all contaminated now. The supplies, my device…” he stopped talking, and swallowed hard as he hunched his shoulders inward. “I fucked up,” he told her quietly, as he handed over his drenched device, “I fucked up our one chance to save Jamie.”

Curtis let out a deep breath, as he looked down dejectedly at the wooden flooring of the jetty. “So,” he said, his voice hollow. “That’s it then. It’s all over.”

Folding her fingers around the tiny steel object in her hand, Evelyn stared at her friends, stupidly hoping that she'd misunderstood them, their words, their expressions, as if they'd been speaking a language that she just couldn't comprehend. “No,” she said, determinedly shaking her head. “No, this can’t be it. It can’t be over. We’ve only just found our bearings again, after spending weeks at sea with a bunch of criminals! I refuse to believe that a splash of seawater is gonna deck us now.”

“We’re running out of time here, kid,” said Curtis in that annoyingly stupid lecturing tone of his. “Like you said; we just spent weeks at sea, without doing anything. And when we left, Jamie didn’t have weeks anymore.”

“No,” she repeated stubbornly, “we went back in time. We fucking _manipulated_ time! How the hell can we be running out of it?”

“We just lost all of our supplies! We lost our one chance to-”

“Fuck that,” she snapped angrily. “Then we go back, and we create a new opportunity.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Milo piped up, which earned him a sharp glare from Curtis. “No, wait. Hear me out, alright?” he said, holding up his hands in defense. “We still have two working devices left. One of us can jump back to 2025, pick up new supplies, and then meet us back in this time again.”

“What about what we just said about ‘running out of time’? What if it’s too late? What if Jamie is already-”

“Stop,” Evelyn interrupted Curtis sharply, “don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She glared at him, and then cocked her head to the side as an idea suddenly popped into her head. “Besides,” she said, “that won’t be an issue if we jump back to the exact same moment where we left. It’ll be like no time has passed.”

Milo nodded. “You’re right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck and hoisting his bag back over his shoulder as he stared at both of his friends. “Then I guess we need to decide which one of us will-”

“I’ll go.” Curtis quickly spoke up, causing both Milo and Evelyn to snap their eyes back at him in surprise. He shrugged. “We all know that I’m of no use here anyway. Evelyn is the heart and brain of this operation, and Milo is the one with the medical skills. I’m just a scared old man who keeps slowing us down.”

Brushing her fingers across his arm, Evelyn gently grabbed hold of his hand. “Curt…” she started gently, her voice soft.

“It’s true,” he interjected, giving her a determined stare. “You know it’s true.”

She sighed and looked to Milo for help, but her blond friend merely nodded his agreement to Curtis’ statement. “He’s right, Evie,” he said, holding up a finger when she wanted to protest. “Think about it. We need to hold Flint and Silver off of our backs while we wait for our new supplies, and you are the only one close enough to those two to do that.” She rolled her eyes, but remained quiet, gesturing for him to continue. “Meanwhile, I already have an in with Blackbeard, so I can try and use that to get close to Vane.” Milo sounded entirely too proud of that fact. “And if someone has to face Zach and explain to him about what’s been going on over here, and how we screwed up, then it should be Curtis. If anyone is good at calmly explaining things, it’s our history professor over here. Because you and I both know how Zach is going to react.”

Milo threw her a meaningful look, and Evelyn nodded reluctantly. He actually did have a good point there. Zach Vane was extremely overprotective when it came to the people he loved. And if their little team didn’t return in the exact same formation as they had left in – well, there was no telling how he would react, really. “Okay. Where will Curtis meet us, when he gets back with the supplies?” she asked, her practical nature kicking back in now that they had a new plan.

“Well, the fleet is still bound for New Providence Island,” Curtis answered plainly. “Flint is still hellbent on taking back Nassau, so I suppose I can meet you two there. It’s where we originally planned to go anyway.”

“But how will you know at what specific timeframe you have to be there? We have no idea when these idiots are even planning to set sail yet.”

“That doesn’t really matter,” Curtis said. “I can wait for you guys there. I doubt that the arrival of a pirate fleet will go by unnoticed, even in Nassau. So I’m sure I’ll be able to tell exactly when and where you guys arrive.”

Milo and Evelyn nodded at Curtis, and the three of them fell into a resigned silence after that, each of them lost in their own thoughts and worries.

“Miss Clarkson, if you are quite ready?” Three heads shot up collectively when Silver’s voice suddenly interrupted them.

Evelyn turned and found the quartermaster waiting for her at the end of the short pier. He stood right next to Flint, who had slipped back into that long black coat of his again, and she hated herself for noticing the way the leather stretched beautifully over the captain’s arms. She bit her lip and threw a longing look back over her shoulder, towards her two friends who merely stared back at her. Milo gave her an unimpressed shrug, and Curtis gave her a small nod, both of them silently telling her it was better to just listen and go along with the quartermaster. She sighed and slumped her shoulders in defeat, throwing one last look over her shoulder at her friends and then reluctantly moved across the jetty to join Silver, placing her hand on his arm when he offered it to her.


	27. Chapter 27

_September 1715, the town of Newport_

* * *

The three of them walked in silence to the end of the pier, with Flint leading them in a pace that was right for all of them. And Evelyn found herself pleasantly surprised by the captain once again, with the way he so compassionately minded Silver’s handicap. They moved across the beach, with its white gold sand and utterly clear waters, onto a long dirt road that ran along the coast, and then straight into a road named Touro Street. Eighteenth century Newport was much different from the town that Evelyn knew, and she looked around in awe as they passed several shops and buildings. There was butcher with fresh lumps of meat on display, and a greengrocer who was selling shiny red apples and deliciously smelling oranges. She smiled and nodded as Silver pointed out a few things of interest, and then shared a conspiratorial grin with him when he presented her with an apple he had taken when the greengrocer wasn’t watching.

They moved further into town, across the Washington Square, past a bookseller, and a small bank, and then, suddenly, they walked towards an impressive, two-story building, with weathered clapboard walls, a gambrel roof and handsome door pediments. It was named the White Horse Tavern, and as they walked through the door and into the tiny front hall, it quickly became clear to Evelyn that it was one of the more popular establishments of Newport.

As they followed Flint towards the bar, Evelyn peered discretely through the small window of the door that led to the parlor. The people inside aimed to be suitably proper – the men wearing powdered wigs, and tailored suits or even military uniforms, and the women wearing colorful dresses, as they waved pretty hand fans in front of their painted faces. Dozens of quiet conversations and soft murmurs carried from the room, along with the tinkling sound of glass against glass as people made elaborate toasts, and cigar smoke twisted about in an elegant way, forming artistic curls in that low-lit room.

Evelyn shook her head at the ridiculous display inside of the parlor, and then refocused her gaze to study the room she was currently standing in. The walls were painted in dark colors, red and green, and the giant beams gave the place a warm and cozy feeling. There was a large, cavernous fireplace that took up most of the wall, and several dark wooden tables and chairs seemed to have been placed randomly about the room. Behind the bar – which seemed to concurrently serve as a registration desk –rows of dark wood shelves adorned the wall, and on top of them stood every hue of liquid, stored in opaque and ornate glass bottles.

Flint stalked straight towards the barkeep, and Evelyn cocked her head to the side in contemplation as she watched as him converse with the man. Then she angled her head and looked back over her shoulder, towards the inn’s entrance, frowning at the thought that suddenly came to mind. “Where will the others stay?” she asked Silver.

“The rest of the crew have different establishments,” he answered simply. She rolled her eyes at him and raised an expectant eyebrow, and he shrugged. “They will set up camp on the beach.”

“Why?”

“Look around, Miss Clarkson. This is not a place for pirates.”

“Then why-”

“While Captain Flint may be a pirate himself,” Silver interrupted her, “the man does still have good manners, and he will not have you stay in one of those dodgy tents back on the beach like some sort of savage.” He gestured around the impressively comfortable area they were standing in. “He will have a room set up for you here in this tavern instead, and another one next to it, for him and my humble self to serve as your loyal guardians.” That familiar shit-eating grin made a reappearance on his face when he turned his gaze back to her. “After all,” he added, “it would only be proper.”

“Yah, sure. Let’s pretend I believe that,” Evelyn said drily, “and that the two of you did not just bring me here to separate me from my friends.” She placed her hands in her sides and gave Silver a challenging look. “Why even bother to spend money for a room here if all you’re planning to do, is lock me up anyway? You could’ve just left me in my cabin on the Walrus.”

“And grant you an easy escape as soon as we stepped into the longboats?” Silver raised a meaningful eyebrow when she smirked at that. “Don’t even bother trying to convince me that you wouldn’t’ve at least tried, miss Clarkson.”

Heaving a deep sigh, Evelyn merely shrugged at him in response. He was right, of course. This morning, when Silver told her that she would be coming with them in the longboats, she had all but jumped in excitement. Because, yes, she had stupidly believed that, once they would be ashore, she would be able to easily slip away from him and Flint. Unfortunately, as it turned out, these two men weren’t stupid. They had predicted her intentions, and made it all but impossible for her to even breathe without either of them knowing about it, let alone sneak off to spend some time with her two friends.

“Miss?” Evelyn jumped at the sound of that kind voice and turned around, her gaze landing on a friendly looking, older woman, who smiled politely and then gestured toward the small wooden stairs behind her. “Shall I escort you to your room?”

“Please do,” Flint answered shortly in her stead, and Evelyn threw him a dark look, to which he merely responded with another one of those blank stares of his. The young woman gently touched her elbow and Evelyn turned around, gritting her teeth in annoyance as she was led up the simple stairway and towards her room. The captain and his quartermaster were no fools, she had to give them that. They had taken away all possible chances of escape, Evelyn thought as she followed the woman across the landing on the second floor – way too high up for her to even attempt a departure through one of the windows. She scowled angrily at the thought, but her gloomy mood vanished the instant that she was ushered into her new bedroom.

Evelyn stopped short when she stepped into that lush and extravagant room, looking around in awe. The room was _huge_ , and it looked as luxurious as any modern, five-star hotel suite would, back in her own time. A large, fourposter bed was pushed against the wall on the right-hand side of the room, adorned with numerous of plush pillows and a soft looking comforter. An impressively grand fireplace dominated the other wall, with a cozy fire already happily crackling inside of it, and in the middle of the room stood a large tub, already half-filled with steaming hot water.

“I hope you don’t mind, miss,” came the woman’s kind voice from behind her, and Evelyn quickly turned back around to look at the maid. She’d almost forgotten about her, lost as she was in taking in her new surroundings. The woman smiled and gestured towards the tub. “I’ve taken the liberty to start drawing you a bath.”

Evelyn returned the woman’s smile and nodded eagerly. “A bath sounds just heavenly. Thank you,” she told her gratefully. She walked further into the room and sat down on the large bed, grinning as the soft mattress dipped underneath the weight of her body. She let herself fall back onto it and brushed her fingers across the soft comforter, unable to keep the content smile off her face. So yeah, Silver and Flint were clearly up to something again, by bringing her here and separating her from her friends. But right now, she just couldn’t really make herself care about any of that. Because, tonight, she would be sleeping in a real, actual bed again!

She raised her head at the sound of splashing water, and propped herself up on her elbows to see what was going on. In the middle of the room, the maid had just finished filling up the bathtub. Evelyn cocked her head as she stared at the older woman. “Hey,” she said, causing the woman to look up at her. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Mary, miss,” the maid answered, picking up the now empty buckets and gesturing towards the bathtub. “Your bath is ready.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Evelyn said gratefully, sitting up. “And my name is Evelyn, by the way,” she told her.

“Yes, miss,” said Mary and Evelyn shook her head, chuckling as the woman discreetly disappeared from the bedroom.

As soon as the maid had closed the door behind her, Evelyn quickly unbuttoned the bodice of her dress, and stripped the fabric down her body. She let the garment fall down onto the floor and left it there, glad to get out of it. The dress pooled around her ankles at the ground and Evelyn shivered in anticipation as she stepped out of it, her gaze locked longingly on the steaming water in the bathtub.

Dressed in only her shift now, she hurried to the bath, watching as the steam curled and danced above the water. After dipping a hesitant finger into the water to check the temperature, she quickly pulled the chemise up and over her head and lowered herself into the bath with a contented sigh. She let herself slide down into the comforting warm water, alowing it block out everything around her. The sensation of the hot water calmed her, and she closed her eyes, relaxing her muscles and letting her limps fall loose. The steam carried the sweet fragrance of jasmine, and she inhaled slowly, tilting her head back to let it rest against the edge of the tub.

Evelyn stayed in the bathtub for as long as she could, until the water turned cold, and her skin began to wrinkle. Only then did she reluctantly push herself up and out of the tub. She slipped into the clean new underdress that Mary had draped over one of the chairs for her, shivering when she buttoned up the collar with her now pruney fingers. The simple white shift was about a size too big for her, but the fine linen was soft and it was clean, and it was nice to change into some fresh clothes.

Yawning, she walked on dead feet towards the four poster bed, and let herself fall onto it, face first. The mattress sunk under her weight and she snuggled deeper into the smooth duvet with a deep and blissful sigh, before rolling from her stomach onto her back, lazily stretching herself out across the bed. Folding her hands across her stomach, Evelyn stared at the ceiling, her head filled with a carrousel of thoughts.

_Why had they brought her here? Were Milo and Curtis alright? Had Curtis already made the jump? Did he even know how to work the device without her help? The device. Shit. She probably needed to take a look at the gizmo that Milo had ruined. But this bed was really comfortable. Almost better than her own bed, back home. Oh man, she missed home. How was her family doing? Was Zach okay? Was Jamie? What if-_

She squeezed her eyes closed, ready to escape that storm in her head. But every emotion, every thought and occurrence that she had experienced during these last few days continued to loop inside of her mind. With her eyes still closed, she tried focusing on her breathing, and on the perfect silence that surrounded her here. On the Walrus, it was almost never completely quiet. Even when she was alone in her cabin, she would still be able to hear the men as they walked about on the decks above her, or the creaking of the wood as the ship met the pulsing waves of the ocean. But here, in this luxurious bedroom, there was complete silence, and she reveled in this blessed moment of quiet solitude. And after a while her consciousness finally began to ebb, as her mind was dragged into the comforting oblivion of sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

_September 1715, the White Horse tavern_

* * *

It was growing dark outside as the day wound down, and the colors of the tavern were subdued to pale hues of grey in the dim moonlight. The White Horse tavern was a robust building, with an impressively sized saloon and an even larger private drawing room. There were only two bedrooms for hire, both located on the second floor of the inn and each with a stunning view on the lovely, secluded garden at the back of the building. The secluded garden consisted of a perfectly groomed lawn with a circular terrace in the middle of it. Rose bushes and jasmine beds filled up the rest of the area, and even at night they made the air smell sweet. The warmth of the day was replaced by a cool breeze that carried in through one of the opened windows on the second floor, causing the curtains to billow and the candles to flicker.

That window belonged to one of the two bedrooms up on the second floor, and inside John Silver sat in a comfortable armchair near the ample fireplace, where a wood-fire was blazing cheerily. He stared blindly into the fire, clearly deep in thought, while he reached for a piece of bread from a platter atop of the table next to him. It was a white loaf, topped with sesame seeds and with a golden brown crust, and Silver closed his eyes as he bit into it, savoring the taste. Delicacies such as these cost more than they could spend on grain rations in a week on the Walrus, and he was adamant to enjoy it while he could.

With a deep sigh, he turned and angled his head to look back at the large fourposter bed that stood on the other side of the room. Flint had flopped down onto it a few moments ago, but Silver could hardly make out the shape of the man. The candles gave far less illumination than the flames in the large fireplace. By the flickering yellow, the other side of the room was dark, the shapes of the furniture barely visible and their shades so muted that they looked almost grey.

He turned around again to gaze back into the flames as they burnt the dry wood, casting shadows across his face. A few hours ago, in an effort to regain the captain’s trust, Silver had come clean to Flint about his involvement in the recovery of the Urca gold. The man had remained admirably calm through his confession, the only telltale sign of the captain’s anger that insistent twitch in his cheek. After Silver had finished explaining what he had done and how he had done it, Flint had given him a dull, empty stare and all he had demanded to know was: “what did you do with your share?” And the quartermaster had been forced to admit that he had given up his share of the gold in order to remain a part of the Walrus’ crew. Because, without those men, he was nothing more than an invalid.

Silver had remained silent after his confession, waiting apprehensively for Flint’s outburst of rage. But the man had stayed quiet, and within the confinement of the dimly lit bedroom, that silence had pressed down hard on the quartermaster. He had carefully kept his eye on the captain’s face and his hand on the dagger that was strapped beneath his belt. But Flint hadn’t seethed, hadn’t cursed, hadn’t stormed at him in a fit of rage. Instead, the man had looked at him with empty eyes and then given him a wry smile, and then told him: “it's a funny thing; the more those men need you, the more you need them.”

Both the truth and the irony of that statement were not lost on Silver. The mere thought that he would ever need someone else, would need to rely on someone else – someone besides himself – absolutely terrified him. He had mastered being the only person to depend on over the years, had kept his life journey completely separate from everyone else, so that the only soul he needed to worry about was his own. It was something that most wouldn’t be able to handle. People needed to be valued and loved by others, needed to be acknowledged in order to feel validated. But John Silver – he wasn’t ready for the company of others in his life, he despised having to be dependent. He would rather be alone, and be comfortable with who he was, than ever be suppressed, or molded into something else for another. By another.

There was a soft rustle of the bedsheets and then a creak of the floorboards behind him, but Silver didn’t turn around to face the person who had made those sounds. It appeared that the captain’s nap had been just that: a short, light rest, and now Flint was back up again and, from the sound of it, moving to join him at the fireplace.

“Everything alright?” Flint asked as he sat down in the chair on the other side of the table, which made Silver turn his head to look at the captain.

“Yes.” Silver nodded shortly, taking a swig of his rum. He swallowed it down, savoring the burning taste of it, before he reached for the bottle and poured a cup for Flint, who accepted it without a word.

Leaning back into his chair, Flint ran a hand across his beard and narrowed his eyes as he gave the man across from him a hard and meaningful stare. Clearly, the captain wasn’t quite convinced of the quartermaster’s wellbeing.

Silver shrugged a shoulder in a dismissive gesture. “There are far more pressing matters to be concerned about.” He pointed to a piece of paper on the table in front of him. “I have gone through the list that Teach gave you. According to him, we would need about a thousand of cannonballs for both the 24 and the 12 pounders, hundreds of barrels of shot, dozens of extra regular and small munitions…”

“He merely gave us a few suggestions, for what’ll be needed if this fleet is to stand a chance against the English empire,” Flint said, unconcerned.

“Well, his suggestions are costly.” Silver jabbed an angry finger at Blackbeard’s list of ideas. “And since we no longer have the gold at our disposal, we are sorely lacking the funding to cover the expenses for those overpriced recommendations.”

The captain didn’t seem much bothered by Silver’s concerns. “Then I suggest you find more capital, quartermaster.”

“And where do you propose I would find such an amount?” Silver asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“You’re the swindler,” Flint stated plainly as he gave Silver a long and cynical stare. “Why not simply do what you do best?”

Silver narrowed his eyes at the man. He didn’t much appreciate the progression of their conversation. “Which is what, exactly?”

“Fabricate a narrative convincing enough to persuade one of those wealthy townspeople to grant you the funding that we need.” Flint gave Silver a taunting look, and a smug grin. “Considering what you’ve told me earlier, I would assume that it shouldn’t be too hard for you to come up with such a story. Or will it?”

And there it was – the retaliation for his betrayal with the Urca gold, a chance for the quartermaster to get back in the captain’s good graces. Flint’s gaze wandered from Silver to the door in un unspoken directive. He was good at this, this subtle form of emotional warfare. The man had learned to relinquish all that was human about him, and exploited it so calculatingly, Silver would’ve been impressed - hadn’t it been aimed at him. It was alarming, to see the captain’s mind at work; his thoughts only ever geared toward his own perception and objectives.

Silver shifted in his seat uncomfortably as Flint continued to stare at him with raised eyebrows, clearly not feeling inclined to break the silence with some sort of non-comital statement. This pressing silence was a cruelty he inflicted intentionally, and after while Silver reluctantly surrendered to it. “Very well,” he said dejectedly. He heaved a deep sigh, downed the last of his drink, and got up from his chair. With a tight nod at Flint, he grabbed Teach’s list from the table and then turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him with a satisfying bang.

He hobbled down the stairs, grimacing with every step, and then stopped when he reached the end of the stairs. Inside the salon was a cacophony of loud conversations, and a secluded huddle of people sat around each table, occasionally raising their voices to be heard above the din. Alcohol was flowing freely, but Silver knew that its volume was only secondary to the amount of information that was being passed around. Hidden underneath the guise of that extravagant wine and refined brandy, dubious agreements were made and unstable alliances were formed.

As John Silver stood at the bottom of the staircase, he carefully let his gaze travel the entire room, all the while taking note of who associated with who. It was imperative for him to know which of these men he could brush off without a second glance and which person he should flatter, and try to befriend. If he was going to get what he wanted, then he would need to make the right introductions, and with the right people. As soon as he had weaseled his way in, it would be relatively simple to gain trust. Almost too simple, really. He would ask them for a favor – the bigger the better, to stroke those massive egos – and he would be careful to lace his request with enough flattery, of course. Not one person within a hundred would spot the lie, if it was done right.

Luckily, John Silver was quite a gifted liar. He grinned self-assuredly when his gaze landed on an older gentleman, who sat proudly at a table with six others – all quite clearly very wealthy men, as could be seen from their appearances. They seemed to be playing a rather competitive game of Brusquembille, and his intended target seemed to be winning rather spectacularly, if his exuberant cheering was anything to go by. Silver jutted out his chin and straightened out his waistcoat as he started making his way through the room, and before he had reached his elected victim, the quartermaster had already slipped into his new role. He was charming and smart as he introduced himself, and his voice was like any other rich aristocrat – honeyed and proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another chapter. Within a few days. I'm on a roll here! I have another few chapters ready for posting, but then I'm sort of stuck again...  
> Please bear with me, I promise I will finish this story at some point!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are ♥


	29. Chapter 29

_September 1715, the pirates’ camp on the beach_

* * *

Large flames crackled freely in the cool of the evening, projecting long shapes and freakish forms across the golden sand. The fire cast an orangey glow across the dark pieces of driftwood that laid spread along the beach. It created obscure shadows, and it supplied only a bit of warmth. Even as Milo added more wood to the fire and then poked at it with a stick, the heat of the flames seemed to vanish into the air before it could reach him. He sighed, gave up trying and pulled a blanket around his shoulders, shivering when a gust of wind ruffled his hair.

The pirate camp could only be described as one giant, disheveled tragedy. The few tents that were still standing had been hurriedly constructed with ropes that had too much give in them, and with canvas that should have been stretched out more before it’d been pegged to the ground. Milo shook his head as he looked around the campsite. Those creased, saggy, and just plain sad looking tents did not look inviting to him at all.

It wasn’t the crooked looking camp, or the wonky tents that really bothered him though. And he wasn’t that much hindered by the nippy ocean breeze, either. Milo Evans was a free spirit; an independent adventurer who loved the open air and relished to be out in nature. Whether he was hiking up in the mountains, discovering new trails, or catching big waves down at a desolated beach somewhere, Milo was happiest when he was outside.

So, no, he didn’t really mind these poor conditions. He would probably sleep like a babe on the sandy floor of his wobbly tent, and he most likely wouldn’t even notice the chilly night air slipping in through the creaks. No, the cause of his current frustration was his very own stupidity. Because he had been so dumb and so careless, dropping his satchel into the ocean, and nearly killing the entire mission in the process.

Fortunately, his friends were not that easily discouraged, and together they had come up with a new plan, which meant that their operation wasn’t completely dead just yet. And it was a good plan – sound and achievable. But it made Milo nervous, because Curtis would be going back home, to 2025, where he would have to face Zach and explain their situation, and the numerous of mistakes and stupidities they had made while they were here. And not only that was a worrying idea; if Curtis went back, then he would be taking one of the remaining two devices with him and leave Milo and Evelyn behind with the last one, in a world where they were surrounded by treacherous pirates.

It didn’t feel right to Milo, that Curtis was leaving them, that the three of them were going to be separated. Which brought him to another reason to feel anxious: Evelyn still hadn’t returned from her trip to town yet. Shortly after they had set foot ashore, the captain and the quartermaster had left and gone into town, walking off without another word or even a backward glance. And they had taken Evelyn with them. And then Silver had returned to the beach only a few minutes ago. On his own. No sight of Flint, and no sight of Evelyn. And it just didn’t sit well with Milo, that she was alone with that crazy fuck of a captain once again. Over the last few days, Flint had been paying way too much attention to Evelyn to his liking, and he didn’t trust that appreciative glint in the man’s eyes whenever he looked at her.

Milo stood and stretched himself, tossing the blanket off his shoulders as he cracked his spine and spread his arms out wide. He narrowed his eyes, and peered across the coastline. A few feet further down the beach, there was another campfire, with a grill rack mounted over it. Curtis was there, sitting atop of an upturned bucket, slowly rotating a lump of fresh meat on a thick metal rod above the fire. Milo sighed and shook his head as he looked at the other men that sat around the bonfire. Most of them were already quite inebriated, courtesy of their recently replenished stock of rum. As it turned out, even pirates – the proverbial men of the sea – were happy to get off the water and back onto land. Or maybe they were just a bunch of drunkards that didn’t really need a reason to start a celebration and get completely smashed. Because, their cheerfulness seemed to have more to do with their newfound access to a steady flow of alcohol than the fact that they were back on land again. Either way, Milo thought, most of the crew were now drunk enough to no longer be paying any attention to what was going on around them. Which meant that this was probably the best moment for him and Curtis to quietly slip away from the group.

Giving Curtis a suggestive stare as he sneaked closer, Milo jerked his head in a silent plea for his friend to come and join him. He took note of the short nod that Curtis gave him in response, and kept walking, strolling straight past the group of inebriated pirates. It was past sunset by now, and when he reached the more desolated part of the beach, away from the light of the bonfire and from prying eyes, Milo started to feel concerned again. The darkness provided them with a natural cover, but he still felt uneasy. If they were able to hide away from prying eyes like this, who else could? He peered back over his shoulder, freezing for a moment when he noticed movement, and then slumped his shoulders in relief when he saw that it was only Curtis who had finally caught up with him.

“Hey,” his friend said softly, “I saw the quartermaster walk by earlier, with Billy. Is Evelyn back yet?”

Milo shook his head, his eyes still flicking back and forth across the beach to check if nobody had followed them here. “It was just him,” he said. “But it’s not like we’re going to get a better opportunity than right now. So I guess we’ll just have to do this without Evelyn.”

With a heavy sigh, Curtis nodded, and then pulled out his device from his vest pocket. He ran a thumb over it to brush away some sand, and stared down at it with a pensive frown. And Milo felt his mouth twitch despite himself, because it made his friend seem like a distinguished old gentleman, extracting his pocket watch to check the time. It amazed him how, even now, on this pirate infested beach, Curtis somehow still managed to remain that same calm and collected professor that he was.

Curtis looked hesitant. “I’m not sure…” he started.

“Dude, you’re not going to talk yourself out of this,” Milo interrupted him quickly. “We can argue about whether this is a good idea or not all night, but in the end we’re still going to need those supplies if we want to go through with our original plan. And someone needs to go get them.”

“You know that’s not what I’m worried about,” Curtis said. “I volunteered for this, remember?” He raised his gaze to Milo and gave him a stern look. “What you need to worry about is keeping yourself and Evelyn safe. Flint hasn’t taken his eyes off of Evelyn since our confrontation with that Hornigold fellow, and I don’t trust Blackbeard’s joviality towards you either.”

“Yeah, I don’t trust Flint either,” Milo said with a nod, completely ignoring the statement his friend had made about Teach. He shrugged when Curtis kept staring at him with that familiar, expectant ‘teacher-look’ on his face. “What do you expect me to do? Evie is a smart woman, she can take care of herself. Besides, she’s not going to listen to me anyway. That woman does whatever the hell she wants.”

“I know,” Curtis responded dejectedly. Evelyn was known for her strong will and determination amongst her friends. And, while he himself had always considered her independence to be one of her best traits, Curtis was worried that right here, in this century, it could possibly get her into a dangerous situation. The same went for Milo as well; that man’s blatant contempt for authority had already gotten him into trouble so many times back home, that it really was a matter of when – not if – it would happen here. Curtis shook his head and sighed deeply. “Just…” he said, trying to find the words, “just keep an eye on each other, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” said Milo, before he threw another wary look over his shoulder. Behind them, the crew was getting rowdier as the evening went on. Someone had started playing a cheery tune on a mandolin, and several of the men had started dancing. They looked as though they'd forgotten how to stand still, randomly jutting out limbs as they jumped around the bonfire like savages. Milo frowned when he noticed Billy coming out of the tent he’d disappeared in with Silver earlier. That meant that the quartermaster was probably on his way out as well.  “Listen,” he said, turning back to his friend, “I hate to cut this short, but I don’t think we’re going to have much more time before anyone notices that we’re missing. You’ve got to get going.”

Curtis nodded solemnly, and took in a deep breath as he began punching in the correct numbers on his device. His thumb hovered over the red button as he raised his gaze back up towards his tall friend. “Alright then,” he said, pushing down the key on the device, “here goes.”

The familiar, silvery portal appeared almost instantly, and both of them simply stared at it for a while, momentarily rendered quiet with awe. They were both experienced with time jumping, but somehow the view of that time portal never seized to amaze. There was a certain static that surrounded them, a crackling in the air that always happened when that doorway through time was opened. It felt like some sort of electrical charge – a kind of tension that hung around them. But then again, the air was probably also buzzing with their own nervous anticipation.

“Well,” Milo broke the silence after a while, still not taking his eyes off the portal that had appeared in front of them, “tell Zach we said hi.” He turned, raised a hand and held two fingers to the side of his forehead in a mock salute towards his friend.

“I will,” came Curtis’ response. “And you two kids make sure to keep yourselves out of trouble, alright?”

“Yah, sure,” Milo gave him a short nod, and then grinned suddenly. “Hey, don’t get splinched!”

Curtis chuckled at that, for once actually understanding the reference. “You’re such a nerd, Milo.” He rolled his eyes at his tall friend, and then turned and walked through the portal without another word.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Milo kept staring as the last shimmer of the portal died out. Then, he turned around and casually started making his way back across the beach, towards the pirates who were still celebrating. Milo gazed at them as he strolled lazily over the white-gold sand. Those men were all so proud, so sure of themselves and their collective strength, and so blissfully unaware that this war that they were preparing themselves for could not be won, _would_ not be won. There would be no victory for these men, it was a hopeless battle. Somewhere in the distant future, their kind would be all but destroyed. Wiped out. Exterminated by civilization, just as their captain had feared. Milo knew this, because in his time, history books mentioned governor Woodes Rogers – the man who had taken over Nassau and successfully restored the British control over it.

He reached the bonfire, and Milo sat down on a piece of driftwood, accepting a mug of rum from doctor Howell with a thankful nod. The men had settled down a bit, and most now sat around the fire, listening to Muldoon who was telling them some fantastical tale about mermaids. Milo smiled, took a small sip of his rum, and wondered when they would notice Curtis’ sudden absence.

 

_July 2025, Boston University_

* * *

Zach Vane breathed out a long sigh, a shiver working its way down his spine as he watched his friends disappear from view one by one. He had seen them walk through that shimmering time portal a few times before, but the sight of it always succeeded to make him feel uncomfortable. One moment they were right there, and the next they were gone. Vanished. As if they had dissolved into the very air right before his eyes. He took another deep breath and cracked his neck, pulling his shoulders back and lolling his head in a circle, before resolutely turning around to leave the lab.

His cellphone buzzed and he halted for a moment to fish it out of his back pocket just before he reached the heavy metal door. He hit the reply button without checking the screen, fully expecting it to be his wife Emily, probably calling him to find out where he was and at what time he’d be home today. “Hey babe,” he said, moving towards the lab’s exit, “I’m on my way home right now.” Zach closed the heavy door behind him, and turned to start punching in the numbers of the security code in order to lock up the lab. But then the person on the other side started talking and he froze, his fingers still hovering over the keypad.

_“Curtis?!”_


End file.
